


To Raise A King

by riseofthefallenone



Category: Supernatural
Genre: (nothing explicit happens to anyone underage), (of 10 years), Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Medieval/Fantasy, Angst, F/M, Human!Castiel - Freeform, M/M, Pining, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-15
Updated: 2015-01-04
Packaged: 2018-02-09 00:07:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 192,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1961403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/riseofthefallenone/pseuds/riseofthefallenone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This must be some kind of horrible joke at Castiel’s expense. Is he truly expected to protect a <em>King</em>? One who has been their enemy for as long as he can remember? He is much more suited to being a part of the army, or at the very least someone who helps to train the knights. That would be far more preferred than having to watch over the King. It means Castiel would get to keep fighting – and that’s the only way he knows to give meaning to his life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I'm going to try and keep this as Medieval-y as possible, but I will be taking liberties with some things. If you're a history buff, please kindly _do not_ take it upon yourself to point out everything that isn't time period appropriate. As appreciated as it would be, this is partly fantasy as it doesn't take place in any specific part of our world, etc.
> 
> Hope you guys enjoy it nonetheless! ♥

This rage is not something Castiel is used to. It’s coursing through him hard enough to make his entire body tremble. He presses his knuckles into the stone floor under him, stopping his fists from shaking as he keeps his head bowed. Castiel is on one knee next to the Chieftain of his tribe, keeping his eyes focused on the smooth stone they stand on.

Even though this stone was pulled from the Earth and shaped by human hands to be placed here, it feels unnatural to him. It doesn’t feel like it should if he were to stand on it outside. The stone feels _wrong_ under his bare feet. Even the sun on the bare skin of his back doesn’t feel right through the high glass windows set in the tall walls of the chamber. These stone castles of the Lowlanders are so confining. Nothing about it feels right.

Castiel’s people, the Aladaï, prefer the outdoors. They sleep directly under the stars or in cloth tents where they can still feel the winds. During the cold months, most tribes migrate to the warm lands in the south where they don’t have to wrap themselves in as much fur. Hunting is easier in the warm lands and Aladaï are more likely to be given jobs there during the cold months. Anyone who would hire them here shuts themselves up in their homes during the cold months until the weather warms again.

Aladaï are warriors and mercenaries. Every day for them is a battle for survival – hunting to eat and fighting for coin. Whether it’s as an assassin, a raiding party, or to pad the ranks of a baron’s army – they accept whatever job that will give them pay for what they do best. _Fighting_. They live for it and Castiel is no different. But as of today, he’s going to be losing all that. He’s losing the open plains and beautiful forests of his homeland – all in the name of _peace_.

The Aladaï and the Lowlanders have been at war with each other for longer than anyone can remember. But the current Chieftain has been making changes since he took leadership of the tribe lands. He rules all the many tribes and their lords scattered across Castiel’s homeland. And finally, after years of debate with the Lowlander’s King, an understanding has been reached.

As a warrior, Castiel has done his absolutely best to please all of his superiors; the generals who dictate the various garrisons of his tribe and even the Chieftain himself. He’s in his eighteenth year and he’s been told time and time again that he has a promising future ahead of him. He could very well be the youngest general in the tribe lands if he continues along the path he’s been taking. With that in mind, he can’t understand why this is happening.

Castiel is here purely as a part of the peace treaty. He, like a handful of other young Aladaï, are being traded to the King. Lowlanders don’t even like Aladaï. The majority of Lowlanders are terrified of them – even outright _hate_ them. As a part of this trade, Castiel is going to have to _live_ here surrounded by a people who can barely stand to look at him. He could care less about the people themselves, but if Castiel has any trouble with them, he won’t be able to just fight it out like he would in his own tribe.

It’s no comfort to him that there are other Aladaï being traded too. They’re grouped behind Castiel and the Chieftain, all kneeling in the same position as he is and already having pledged their allegiance to the King. Each one of them is younger than Castiel and _none_ of them have even remotely the same amount of victory tattoos as Castiel does. They can’t even be properly called warriors as none of them have obtained the tattooed wings that mark them as fully-fledged warriors. Castiel has had his wings for nearly a year already.

And that is what he can’t understand. Why is he here? Why would Castiel, out of everyone in their tribe, be traded with these young ones? There must be more going on here than Castiel knows and it’s bothering him. It nags at the back of his mind, but he can’t let it show and there is nothing that he can do to change what’s happening.

He can’t change anything now that he’s already sworn his allegiance to King Winchester. The words still weigh on Castiel’s tongue. Despite being fluent in the Lowlander’s language, speaking the oath that has bound him to the King felt wrong and it tasted bitter in his mouth. It was a pledge forced from him – _demanded_ of him – purely for this peace treaty. The treaty will bring trade into the tribe lands and it’s a benefit to his people. Castiel knows and understands this, and he supports the treaty. But he doesn’t want to be a part of it like this.

Carefully, he lifts his head enough to take a quick look around the room. To one side of the chamber are his own people; the Chieftain’s advisors and each of them a qualified warrior. Seated along the other side of the chamber are King Winchester’s advisors. They are all wrapped in layers upon layers of clothing that makes Castiel’s skin crawl. How are they not going insane being trapped within so much clothing? Aladaï barely wear a fraction of the same.

Even Aladaï women hardly wear more clothing than the men. Castiel wears nothing more than a strip of cloth pulled up between his legs under trousers that are tied in place at waist and ankle. The rest of the fabric is loose around his legs and he prefers it that way. Anything else feels too restricting. He doesn’t even like wearing the tunic that are a part of what the Aladaï during the cold months. And he certainly doesn’t understand how the Lowlanders can tolerate the leathers that cover their feet.

In battle, Aladaï barely wear any armour. They don’t even carry a shield into a fight. But the King’s so called knights who line the walls behind the advisors, watching everything through the slits in their helmets, are covered from head to toe. The ones standing in the corners of the room are wearing suits of heavy metal, but the rest stand in suits of chainmail and heavy leathers.

How is it possible that they can even fight while weighed down like that? Their movements must be restricted beyond reason. Just by looking at them, Castiel can already think of a variety of different ways he could out maneuver them while he picks out the weakest points in their armour. How bad must their hand-to-hand combat be if they need to depend on such heavy suits to protect them?

Will he have to wear similar things? Will he be placed into the King’s army? It makes Castiel’s stomach turn to think about what might be expected of him now. Everything he knows is going to change and thinking about it all makes Castiel extremely uncomfortable. And he can’t say anything against it. At the command of his Chieftain, he’s already given his allegiance to this King he barely knows beyond the stories told by his people.

A hand on his shoulder makes Castiel’s blood run cold. It’s a silent command for him to stand and he squares his shoulders as he does. Next to his Chieftain, Gabriel, Castiel stands taller than him. The Chieftain’s height has never come into question regarding his strength but it is no secret that his cunning is what won him his title.

“This is Castiel.” Gabriel announces, keeping his hand on his shoulder. “He is strong, fast, bright, loyal, and he is one of our most promising warriors. I give him to you as a protector. You will never be safer than in his care. None of your knights will be able to protect you better than an Aladaï warrior.”

This must be some kind of horrible joke at Castiel’s expense. Is he truly expected to protect a _King_? One who has been their enemy for as long as he can remember? He is much more suited to being a part of the army, or at the very least someone who helps to train the knights. That would be far more preferred than having to watch over the King. It means Castiel would get to keep fighting – and that’s the only way he knows to give meaning to his life.

“I don’t require any more protection.” King Winchester says lowly, narrowing his eyes. It’s a miracle his crown doesn’t fall from the King’s head when he tilts it, regarding him with thoughtful eyes. “How are you with children, Castiel?”

He bows his head out of respect for the King. “I take no issue with them, my lord.”

“Good.” The King nods and gestures around the room at the knights standing guard. “I have knights to protect me, but my sons are in as equal danger as myself. Their Matron is too old to keep up with them now and they need someone to raise them properly. It would only be a benefit if you could protect them at the same time.”

Castiel barely manages to keep himself from groaning or rolling his eyes. Children are fine and he gets along with them well back in his tribe, but those are Aladaï children. And he doesn’t want to _raise_ some spoiled princes. But despite how every part of him wants to refuse, Castiel can say nothing against it. If he does anything to cost his people this peace treaty, the Chieftain would be well within his rights to kill him on the spot.

Stiffly, Castiel bends forward in a bow and swallows his angers and frustrations with the turn of events. “It would be my honour, your highness.”

Someone at the side of the room clears their throat. All attention in the room turns toward one of the King’s advisors as he stands. “My liege, as beneficial as this alliance will be for our two races, I do not think the peasants would take well to our future King being raised by an -”

He falls silent at the cold look the King turns to him. “My decision stands, Lord Campbell. If anyone here takes issue with this choice, you’re welcome to discuss them with me _after_ this meeting is over.”

Lord Campbell’s lips press into a thin line and he sits heavily. Castiel’s eyes linger on him a little longer. As displeased as he is with this decision too, a part of Castiel wants to excel at the task the King is giving him purely to spite everyone who would think him unqualified for it. Something defiant starts to burn in his chest alongside the anger.

The King lifts his hand and a woman comes forward from a doorway hidden behind hanging tapestries. Her clothes are plain, but clean and her dark hair is pulled back under a white covering that ties under her chin. A servant girl. She quickly makes her way to Castiel’s side and gestures for him to follow.

“Go with her, Castiel. She will see that the preparations are made.” King Winchester waves his hand and Castiel’s stomach sinks.

This is it. He’s leaving his Chieftain and everything he’s ever known behind. Castiel bows shortly to Gabriel and doesn’t spare a glance for any of the other Aladaï gathered in the chamber. No one has spoken out against the trade of his services and the feeling settled in the hollow of his chest feels too much like betrayal for his liking.

As soon as they’re out of earshot of the chamber, the servant girl stops and turns to Castiel. She looks him over with a curl to her upper lip. “Castiel, was it?”

“Yes, ma’am.” He nods and holds still at the scrutinizing glare. It’s clear to him that she likes Aladaï no more than the rest of the kingdom. “Where are we going?”

“First, you need a bath. You’re filthy.” She turns away and starts down the hall again. “And my name is Ruby. I’ll be preparing you to meet our princes.”

Castiel winces at the mention of the princes. He has no desire to meet them. “Where is the nearest spring? I can bathe myself there.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Ruby glances over his shoulder with a frown. “We’re not barbarians here. You will bathe in tub like the rest of us – though you shouldn’t expect the water to be warm. That effort is only made for the royals. Understood?”

He has little care for the temperature of water. For all his life, Castiel has been bathing in the cool waters of rushing rivers or dumping buckets from the wells over his head. That is so much less complicated than having to fill (and sometimes heat) a tub. Castiel can’t understand why they would bother with such a long process for just a few short minutes of bathing.

However, he _does_ take issue with her thinly veiled insult. A barbarian? How would she feel if she knew that the very same term is used to describe the Lowlanders with their unsightly homes and roads that mar the landscape? It’s disgusting, but Castiel bites his tongue to remain silent and follows her deep into the castle to the bathing chambers for the servants.

A young man, not much younger than Castiel, stops in his process of carrying buckets of water from the well in the corner to a copper tub in the center of the floor. It’s round and barely big enough for him. Castiel suspects that he will be able to sit in it, but his knees will be folded almost to his chest unless he wants his legs to hang over the rim. The young man stares at Castiel with sunken eyes, looking him over with more curiosity than hatred.

“ _Ash_.” Ruby hisses at him, snapping him back to attention. “Finish with the buckets and fetch new clothing. Our newest addition to staff requires them.”

Castiel frowns and shakes his head. This is what he had been dreading. “I don’t require new clothing.” He gestures down at his trousers. “These will be enough.”

Even Ash pales at that and he nearly misses the tub while he tips one of the buckets into it. Ruby turns on Castiel with a dark frown pulling her lips down. “Your clothing is just as dirty as you are and they _stink_. You can’t be allowed anywhere near the young princes like that.”

Though that is exactly what Castiel had been expecting, he’s no happier to hear it. He sighs and crouches to untie the strings that draw closed the trousers around his ankles. The draw at his waist is next and Castiel drops his trousers to the floor, stepping out of them in the same motion as he undoes the cloth between his legs and wrapped around his waist.

Ruby wrinkles her nose at his clothing, but she gathers it into a basket nonetheless. Castiel ignores what she and Ash do as he settles into the tub and picks up the rag hanging from the edge of it. With the damp rag, Castiel scrubs his body as best he can. If he rubs hard enough, perhaps he’ll be able to release some of his anger before he has to meet the children. He has no idea how old the young princes are, but it would do no good for their first memories of him to be ones filled with his rage.

Castiel uses a small cup that Ash provides to dump water over his head and shoulders, rinsing away the _dirt and stink_ Ruby claims he has. Do they really think anyone in his tribe would have attended such an important meeting without washing both their bodies and their clothing? He had even used soap root on his hair and skin – a luxury that servants apparently do not have here. At least he has some in his pack still with his horse in the stables and he might be able to find some in the forests of the Lowlands.

What few meager possessions that Castiel owns is with his horse. The pain is still fresh from when he was told to pack everything. While he rinses himself clean, Castiel finds it hard to stop wondering what exactly it is that he did wrong. What did he do for his superiors – for the _Chieftain_ – to decide that he was worth trading? Was he not a good enough fighter? Are the tattoos across his back and already spreading down his arms not enough to prove his worth to _stay_?

“That’s long enough.” Ruby pulls the cup from Castiel’s hand and replaces it with a clean strip of cloth. “Dry yourself and get dressed. The King wants you to meet the princes before I show you to your quarters. Your lessons begin starting tomorrow.”

Castiel stands and steps out of the tub. Usually he prefers to dry in the sun, but a cloth will do for now. However, the clothing that Ash holds out to him will _not_ be acceptable. Leaving the boots aside, the stockings will be uncomfortable and the tunic has so much unnecessary fabric. He’s not even sure if it’s going to fit him properly. How do they know if it will or won’t?

“Ruby can have a bit of a temper, my friend.” Ash whispers, leaning in closer as Castiel hesitantly takes the clothing from him. “It’s best to just do what she says before she starts thinking about putting a curse on you.”

“She practices magic?” That is certainly a surprise. Castiel was under the impression that the Lowlanders hated witches and the sort.

Ash’s shoulders rise and fall in a quick shrug as he gives Castiel the room to pull his undergarments on before attempts the stockings. They go almost all the way to the strip of cloth between his legs and are held in place by a thin rope similar to the strings that Castiel uses to keep his usual trousers closed. It is obscenely uncomfortable and Castiel hates it with the same passion that he does the white undertunic he pulls over his head.

It falls almost all the way to his knees and the sleeves are loose around his arms though the wrists are tighter. They remind him of his pants, though they have no tie to tighten them. The fabric stretches across his shoulders and everything feels too small and tight. He doesn’t try moving until the colourful sleeveless tunic is over his head too and a belt has been tied around his waist. There’s too much fabric over his legs and all it does is confirm his suspicions.

His flexibility is compromised by the fabric bunched along his arms and across his chest. He feels weighed down and the fabric makes his skin itch. Castiel flexes his legs, crouching and surprising Ash and Ruby with a few experimental kicks. It feels like the stockings are slipping down his thighs and he doesn’t like that sensation. He can ignore it if need be, but why must he be forced into foreign clothing when he’s already being forced into a foreign land?

“How long do I have to wear this?” Castiel asks as he leans against the edge of a table to pull the boots on. They pinch around his feet though they’re still a decent fit, but he’s not used to wearing hard leathers and wood pieces. The shoes he wears during the cold months in the warm lands are made of hides and furs and feel far more comfortable than this.

“These will be yours now.” Ruby gestures at the outfit Castiel is wearing. “You can go to market and purchase more if you want. But on your own time and with your own coin.”

He looks up sharply, a heavy frown twisting his lips. “These are not mine. I want my own clothing. Return my trousers.”

Ash winces and shakes his head as Ruby puts her hands on her hips. “Have you any idea how improper it would be for you to walk around half naked like that? Those trousers are being washed and you’ll have them returned to you, but you absolutely cannot wear them in the castle.” Her sharp gesture at his current outfit spikes anger through Castiel’s chest. “You live here now and that is what you will wear.”

It takes a deep breath to calm Castiel’s heart. This is for his people. This is for their survival and their prosperity. For them, he can weather any uncomfortable clothing. There is nothing he can’t accustom himself to. Even if the collars of the tunics are close enough to his throat that he feels like they choke him, or that the fabric is stiff and too tight over all his limbs. It will take time, but Castiel might be able to adjust or adapt to moving with them eventually.

Of course, he won’t hate it any less.

“ _Fine_.” Castiel bites out between clenched teeth. His hands ball into fists at his side and he tilts his head in a bow to Ruby. “Please, lead the way.”

There is much that Castiel knows about the Lowlander’s kingdom. He knows the name of the King and the members of his court. He knows that the King fathered two sons and his Queen died from a sickness acquired during the birth of their second son. Their names are Dean and Sam and Castiel can hazard a guess at their ages from the information he has.

And he isn’t pleased to find that his guess is accurate when he’s led into a chamber scattered with more toys than Castiel thinks all the children of the tribe lands have. There are dolls and small wooden animals grouped messily across the floor and rugs, interspaced with a few toy swords and shields, several balls of various sizes, and a number of hoops. A variety of instruments that Castiel doesn’t recognize are laying on shelves, but he is familiar with an unfinished game of chess on a table in the corner. They use it in the tribes to train the minds of the warriors for strategy.

“The small one is Prince Samuel, though he throws a fit if you call him by his full name.” Ruby explains in a whisper as they stand in the space behind the tapestries hanging from the ceiling, out of sight of both the boys – as a servant should always be, to his understanding. “This is his fourth year. We celebrated his birthday just a few moons ago. Prince Dean is four years his elder. I don’t suggest letting his age fool you. He is very smart for a child.”

Castiel swallows his groan. They’re so young and he’s supposed to be the one to raise and train them? Why? Would it not make more sense for him to be in charge of simply their training? None of this makes sense to Castiel. Though his simmering rage is doing little to clear his sight to see everything that he should. He sighs and shifts uncomfortably in his new clothing.

“What are to be my duties?”

“You will be their personal attendant. More so for the crown prince, Dean. He will take the throne next.” Ruby explains quickly. “Your position will require protecting them from any and all threats, obviously. You will ensuring that the princes attend scheduled lessons with their tutors and it will be your duty to teach them how to be proper gentlemen.”

Fantastic. A task that is nearly impossible. Castiel barely knows anything about what Lowlander’s consider _proper_. How is he supposed to instruct them of anything when he is – as Ruby so kindly pointed out before – a _barbarian_? The question is on the tip of his tongue, but Ruby continues her explanation.

“Of course you won’t be able to do any of that until you’re properly trained yourself.” She sighs and waves her hand as if she were dismissing the subject. “Until your own training is complete, you will be acting as nothing more than a servant attending to their needs and their protector. Matron will continue to oversee their education.”

“Who is this _Matron_ everyone speaks of?”

Ruby rolls her eyes and tosses the black curls that spill out from under her cap over her shoulder. “An angry old woman. She helped raise our last King, and our current King, but she is far too old to keep up with our young princes. For whatever reason, the King has chosen _you_ to take her place.”

Castiel refrains from rubbing a hand over his face just to try and rub away his frustrations. “Will the princes be introduced to me today or will I be meeting them after this required _training_?” Everyone seems to know so much more about this than he does. How long has King Winchester and the Chieftain known about the trading of his services for even the servants to know of this?

“Today.” She grabs him by the arm and tugs him forward. “They need to get used to your presence before they can be expected to follow your guidance.”

Fantastic. He sighs and allows her to drag him out into the open. Immediately, the room falls silent. The princes are playing alone in the center of the chamber, but there are a few guards posted by the entrances and another servant stands at the ready should the princes need anything. Prince Dean lifts his head and his eyes go wide.

Even at his age, he should be able to tell the difference between an Aladaï and a Lowlander. Castiel looks very different from the other adults in the room. His tanned skin is a stark contrast to Ruby’s pale cheeks. Most Lowlanders that he has seen don’t bronze as easily as the Aladaï do. The servants and the royals aren’t outdoors nearly enough for it.

Their skin aside, the majority of Lowlanders have long hair. Even their warriors have it and the only logic Castiel can see in having it is if they manage to keep their head (and hair) in their helmets through every battle. Long hair is a danger in a fight. It’s too easy to grab and if it comes loose it can obscure a warrior’s vision. It’s for that reason that all Aladaï cut their hair short.

Prince Dean’s green eyes only get wider the closer Castiel and Ruby get to him. He ducks his head and whispers something to Prince Sam and his little brother turns to look with eyes that are just as wide. Ruby tugs Castiel’s arm when she bows to the princes, as if that is enough to make him bow to. Castiel feels stiff in these clothes and overly formal as he waits for Ruby to finish the introductions.

“Your highnesses, the King has commanded that I introduce to you this man.” She lets go of Castiel’s wrist and gestures at him. “His name is Castiel and, by the King’s command, he will be replacing the Matron as well as taking over the duty of training you in the art of combat.”

“ _Dean_.” Prince Sam hisses in surprise, tugging at Prince Dean’s arm. He looks to him with wide, almost panicked eyes. Castiel can only imagine what horrific stories the Matron and other servants have filled their young heads with.

Prince Dean shakes his head sharply and stands to step in front of his brother. “No!”

Ruby sighs through her nose and forces a smile while she continues her introduction. “My apologies, your highness, but the Matron is being removed from her services. She will only ensure that you attend your lessons for the time being. Castiel has his own training before he will take on his full duties, but he will be performing basic tasks for you until then.”

“I said _no_.” Prince Dean shakes his head again, his upper lip curling back in a sneer. “I don’t want him.” Even Prince Sam shakes his head while he peeks out from behind his brother. “ _We_ don’t want him. He’s one of the _dirty_ people. Matron said they’re _monsters_.”

“Your highness –”

Prince Dean stomps his foot and glares up at them both. “Tell Father _no_. We want _Matron_.”

The simmering anger in Castiel’s chest flares brighter and his fists clench tightly at his sides while he stares down at the little Prince. Not one word has passed his lips to this child and already he knows that this is not going to be an easy assignment. Castiel’s predecessor, this _Matron_ , has held this position for decades. Is that how long he will be expected to guard over these princes? Possibly Longer?

This is one challenge that Castiel does not relish undertaking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Official design of Castiel for To Raise A King, drawn by the ever wonderful [Pappcave](http://pappcave.tumblr.com)
> 
> [Fanart](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/tagged/trak+fanart) (contains spoilers)


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You can’t do that!” Prince Dean slams his small hands on the table, making Prince Sam and the other servant jump slightly in their places.
> 
> “Would you care to ask the King if I can?” He asks coolly, never wavering from his flat stare.

No matter how many days pass, Castiel cannot bring himself to be comfortable in the clothing the Lowlanders are still forcing him to wear. The only relief he has from them is at night, but even then there is little comfort to be found within the stone walls of the castle. As the _protector_ of the princes, Castiel must remain on guard at all times, including at night in the servant’s quarters that adjoin the chamber where the princes sleep.

That one room is bigger even then the Chieftain’s tent back in the tribe lands, decorated with hanging tapestries and wide beds covered with blankets and pillows of the softest materials Castiel has ever felt. The decadence and luxury the Lowlanders lavish their royalty with is obscene. Even their clothing is of a better quality than what the peasants wear. Castiel tries not to be disgusted by it, but the difference in the social classes irks him.

In the tribe lands, the Chieftain wears the same kinds of clothing as the warriors. It is only ranking that separates the warriors and that is determined not by birth or blood, but by strength and cunning. They live by their swords and die by their swords with few laws governing them. They respect each other no matter their ranking and Castiel can’t understand why the members of the King’s court – the royalty, the nobility, and the gentry – find it within their right to treat their servants and the peasants like they are somehow _less_ than them.

Every new thing that Castiel learns about the way the Lowlanders live only adds to his ever growing hatred for this place. The etiquette lessons he receives throughout the days feel endless. How is he ever supposed to remember every little rule about what he can and cannot do when everything depends on whose presence he’s in and which situation calls for what? There are so many restrictions that the task of learning them all feels impossible and the only reason that Castiel devotes his full attention to them is with the single minded purpose of proving everyone wrong.

*

“You’re doing it _wrong_.” Ruby sighs, pulling the blanket from Castiel’s hands. She doesn’t look irritated. If anything, she looks _amused_. “How many times do I have to tell you how it’s supposed to be folded? You’ll need to redo that whole pile.”

Castiel frowns and glances at the short stack of thin blankets on the table next to him. It looks no different from the pile Ruby has folded herself. If anything, Castiel’s is more orderly than her pile. She simply has more finished than he does and he attributes this to the fact that folding laundry a specific way is still very new to him.

This is just another of Ruby’s moments where she delights in frustrating him. He only wishes that she was the only one here who criticizes everything he does no matter how well he does it. With a sigh of his own, Castiel mutters his apologies and carefully mimics her movements yet again, ending with the same result he had before she interrupted.

“Good. That’s acceptable.” She nods sharply, a mocking smiling turning up the corners of her mouth.

Another servant, a woman with blond hair peeking out from under her cap, drops another basket of the thin blankets on the table between Castiel and Ruby. “You might want to do these faster, if you’re capable of it. Matron is on her way to collect the princes from their last lesson of the day.”

“Thank you, Meg.” Castiel bites out, purposefully ignoring her veiled insult as he takes apart the pile he had already done so he can re-do them at Ruby’s insistence.

After nearly a fortnight, he has come to expect their unfounded criticism born of their disdain for his people. No matter how civil they attempt to be, it’s a poor mask for their bred hatred of his kind. To Castiel’s understanding, the position he is being given is one of great importance. As such, if the Lowlanders are so infatuated with their ideas of status, it would make sense for them to treat him better than this.

It’s all a matter of his heritage and Castiel struggles with it every day.

With the princes’ lessons finished for the day, it’s nearly time for Castiel’s turn to watch over them. After their evening meal, they are permitted to play to their hearts’ content and it is up to them to decide whether it will be inside or out, if the weather permits it. Castiel almost wishes that the weather would always be too terrible for that. Prince Dean has the habit of _running away_ whenever Castiel is left alone with them – be it in the halls of the castle, or the courtyard outside. And, as little brothers do, Prince Sam always does the same. It’s infuriating.

Prince Dean is one of the biggest trials that Castiel has had to suffer through. He’s worse than the uncomfortable clothing and confining lodgings put together. While Prince Sam seems too afraid to even _look_ at Castiel, his elder brother has a sharp mind and an equally sharp tongue. Though Castiel has yet to actually meet her, the Matron has apparently taught Prince Dean a variety of words and names with which to call the Aladaï. Each new insult frays what little of Castiel’s nerves are left.

In between his lessons from the other servants and their thinly veiled abuse, Castiel has to tend to the princes. Matron sees that they make it to their lessons and their meals, but Castiel is the one who wakes them and puts them to bed. He’s been taught when and how to prepare their baths and when their clothing and bedding should be washed. It’s his duty to ensure that they are presentable for the court. And yet, so far the majority of Castiel’s time is spent standing in a corner watching the princes while they play in their toy room.

Their schedules have been all but beaten into Castiel’s head. There is nothing about it that Castiel finds difficult to understand. On the contrary, these new duties would be fairly simple for him to carry out if only he was spared having to deal with Prince Dean. For someone so small and young, he has a particular talent for making everything so very _difficult_.

In Castiel’s eyes, Prince Dean is little more than a _brat_.Though Castiel is technically supposed to listen to all of the princes’ demands, the position being given to him allows a certain amount of leeway. As their primary guardian and their protector, Castiel will soon have to do what is considered best for the princes. It means that he can ignore Prince Dean’s commands for him to leave – no matter how much Castiel would like to follow that order and pack his possessions on his horse again.

As it is, Castiel is not allowed to speak out when he is insulted and he is not allowed to act if Prince Dean throws something at him. In hindsight, it was not the wisest of decisions to catch the first item that had been thrown at him on one of his first days. He had barely even been watching when the ball was thrown and he caught it with ease. It seemed to impress the princes somewhat and now they both have made it habit to try at random intervals. Thus far, they yet to succeed in actually hitting him.

He wonders, as he finishes folding the last thin blanket, how many things will be thrown at him during play time today. It is a cold and bitter thought that he would take handling toys being thrown at him constantly over dealing with the way everyone else treats him. He would settle for that if it meant that someone would at least be decent with him.

Castiel can’t even remember the last time he saw one of the Aladaï who were traded with him. He’s learned from the castle staff that the others were placed within the ranks of the army. There they at least are able to earn the respect of their peers just as they have their entire life.

It’s been so long since Castiel has felt the thrill of a fight that his fingers twitch into fists whenever someone insults him. If he was home in the tribe lands, he wouldn’t hesitate to swing at anyone who disrespects him, his people, or his way of life. The closest that Castiel has come to any sort of respect is with Ash.

Though they’re not able to be openly friendly without Ash being scorned by the others too, Ash at least treats Castiel with politeness and respect. His general attitude seems to fall along the lines of one who has little care for the ways of the world around them. Castiel has also noticed that he spends a good portion of his coin on brewing his own ale (which tastes surprisingly good).

As if summoned by Castiel’s thoughts, Ash appears at his shoulder. “I’ve been told to let you know that it’s your turn with the princes now.”

“Do you need me to hold your hand?” Ruby asks in a laughs.

The hard node of anger that has been pulsating in Castiel’s chest since he arrived flares a little brighter. It’s been several days since anyone aside from the Knights who stand guard in the playroom have been needed to watch over Castiel while he takes up his duty with attending to the princes. Without deigning to even spare her a glare, Castiel thanks Ash and quickly makes his ways through the winding corridors that are used as the servants’ paths; secret tunnels hidden behind the walls where the servants can move about unseen.

Within his first few days here, Castiel had already made a mental map of the castle and memorized it to the best of his ability. That task was infinitely more entertaining that his so called _lessons_ and it was information he found far more important for his role as the princes’ protector. He needs to know all the possible entrances an attacker might use more than he will ever need to know that the princes need no less than four pillows on their beds for them to sleep.

It takes every ounce of Castiel’s extensive willpower to keep all of his anger locked away when he slips through the opening in the wall behind the tapestries in the playroom. Castiel does his best never to show his anger around the princes, despite how Prince Dean seems bent on drawing that sort of reaction out of him. Clearly, the young prince is no happier with this situation than Castiel is – though his reasons probably vary greatly.

Just from observation alone, Castiel already knows what kind of child Prince Dean is. He’s watched how Prince Dean treats the other servants; ordering them around as though they were nothing more than slaves. The prince is used to getting what he wants and pushing them around; the epitome of a spoiled brat. It is a large source of Castiel’s frustrations.

If only he was allowed to speak out against the injustices he sees. How is he supposed to be in charge of raising the princes into proper gentlemen if he is denied the ability to tell them when they are doing something wrong? Castiel knows the matron is allowed to chastise them for their behaviour. _She_ can be candid with them, so why can’t he? If the King was ever available for questioning, Castiel would ask him without hesitation.

As it stands, the only people who actively defy the princes are the Knights. Although they only hold out for so long before they eventually do as the princes demand. Everyone caters to them and Castiel is finding it intolerable. Were he allowed to be, Castiel would be an immovable force to the princes. They would get away with nothing and he would mold them into the young men that the King expects of them. Currently, Castiel fears what type of men the princes will grow into if they continue to be as spoiled as they are.

The moment Castiel steps around the tapestries, the laughter and smiles stop. Prince Sam ducks behind his brother again and Prince Dean’s expression hardens into one of a furious determination. Castiel can already see how annoying the rest of this day will be and he does not look forward to trying to get them to listen to him when it comes time for them to go to bed. With a deep breath, he steels himself for this next challenge to test him.

*

Almost as if his prayers have been answered, the King summons Castiel to him a few mornings later. Perhaps it is merely coincidence that today is the fortnight anniversary of Castiel’s arrival. In any event, Castiel is both relieved and excited to finally have the chance to speak with the King. It will help to finally ask the questions he needs answered.

Castiel is led to the King’s council room; a chamber lined with shelves of books and scrolls that Castiel would not be able to read. He has a very loose grasp of the Lowlander’s written language and he has only a faint desire in learning it. If he ever had the time that might be something he would be interested in should the opportunity present itself.

The King stands alone at the windows of the chamber. His advisors are nowhere to be seen and there are only a few Knights standing in the corners of the room to watch over him. Castiel takes a few steps into the room and waits for the door to close behind him before he drops to one knee and bows his head. He presses his fists to the floor and waits for the King to acknowledge him.

“You have my permission to stand and speak, Castiel.” King Winchester is watching him when he complies. He raises his hand and gestures for Castiel to join him at the window. “You’ve been in my kingdom a fortnight now. Tell me, how are your lessons? Do you get along well with my sons?”

Here lies the problem. If the King was the Chieftain, Castiel would not be afraid to speak his mind. But King Winchester is still largely unknown to him and Castiel doesn’t know how he would react if he were to speak as freely as he would back in the tribe lands. If he has learned anything from the other servants in his time here, speaking requires forethought and careful contemplation of one’s words.

When he says nothing, the King turns a thoughtful eye to him. “Speak honestly or not at all.”

Fine. If that is what the King is asking for, then that is what he shall receive.

“I have not yet adjusted to living in your kingdom, your Highness. Your customs and ways are difficult to adapt to and I miss the ways of life in the tribe lands. I find the lessons boring but I can see their necessity with learning how to live here and serve the princes.”

He takes a deep breath and continues to hold the King’s gaze as he speaks. “They would be easier to suffer through if the majority of the other servants treated me with the same respect I give them. As for your sons – things are very difficult with them. Prince Dean despises me and Prince Sam fears me. I don’t understand how I’m to be expected to raise them when I’m not permitted to speak out against their bad behaviours.”

A dark frown passes over the King’s features and Castiel fears he might have said too much. He waits with his hands at his sides while the King looks out at the garden below. The flowers are in full bloom and a handful of gardeners are kneeling along the edges of the beds, pulling weeds and pouring jugs of water to keep the soil moistened while the haywards trim the hedges.

Castiel watches with interest until the King sighs and turns away, pacing across the room to his elaborate chair at the table that takes up the majority of the room. “It was a fool’s hope to think my people would accept the Aladaï as soon as the peace treaty was made.” He runs a hand over his face, pulling his fingers through the hair of his beard. “You’re to be replacing the Matron. That position demands the same respect. If anyone treats you unkindly, remind them of such and report to me anyone who isn’t.”

“I can’t do that, my Lord.”

Surprise lifts the King’s eyebrows and Castiel approaches the table to stand closer. “It’s against everything I am to allow someone else, even the King, to fight my battles. If someone continues to be rude and disrespectful, may I be allowed to handle it as I always have?”

The King barks a short laugh. “Are you suggesting that you be allowed to fight out your troubles?”

“Yes, your Highness.”

“Does the Aladaï way of life support fighting against those who have no training or means to defend themselves the same?”

Castiel almost grins. He was expecting this question. “The creed of the Aladaï is respect for everyone regardless of status. If you choose to disrespect anyone, you should be prepared for the consequences – since you might never know the strength of the opponent you’re making for yourself.”

A smile grows behind the King’s beard. “An interesting philosophy, but the people would be up in arms were I to let you beat anyone who gave you a bit of attitude. That’s a right reserved only for those of a noble bloodline.”

“I wouldn’t _beat_ anyone, my Lord.” He murmurs, a small smile lifting a corner of his mouth. “I would simply remind them who they are insulting. At most, I would only _scare_ them a little.” The smile falls and Castiel presses his hands into the sides of his thighs to keep them from curling into fists. “I’ve learned enough of your ways to know what rights the nobility have that I do not.”

And it disgusts him. Not even the Chieftain or the generals who hold higher ranks have any different rights than the lowest warrior. Their positions are titles that they’ve won by the strength of their own bodies and gives them the power to dictate the movements of others in battle alone. They’ve won their respect not through birth but through battle, and through their hard work they’ve been granted extra _privileges_ – something they could lose at a moment’s notice.

The fact that Lowlanders still see his people as barbarians because Aladaï have simple and sometimes violent lives baffles him. Their way of life seems so much more _fair_ than that of the Lowlanders. Everyone in the tribe is taken care of and no one is less than anyone else. Why can’t the Lowlanders see how well that works? If the Aladaï were truly nothing more than barbarians, would the war have lasted as long as it did?

“I believe that would be acceptable. If you truly want to scare them, tell them they’ll have to deal with me should their attitudes not improve.” King Winchester grins and settles back in his chair, lacing his fingers over his belly. “Now, what about my sons?”

“I don’t wish to sound as if I were complaining, your Highness.”

The King waves his hand to dismiss his words. “It’s not a complaint. It’s a report.”

“Your sons hate and fear me.” Castiel shrugs and glances around the room, checking it over to ensure nothing has changed. It’s a defensive habit he’ll never be able to break. “They run from me, hide from me, and throw things at me. And Prince Dean’s tongue is as barbed as a thistle.”

Any smile the King still bore falls away. “What do you do to stop it?”

“Nothing, my Lord. I was told by the other servants that I am not to speak or act out against the princes in any manner.”

“Forget what the servants said. You are the personal attendant to my sons and their protector. I want them raised properly with the respect for your people our kingdom needs.” He stands up sharply, and Castiel winces at the scrape of the chair against the stone floor. “If they insult you or say something inappropriate, admonish them for it. Take away their toys, make them stand in the corner, extend the time of their lessons with their tutors. Do what you see fit.”

The tight knot of anger in Castiel’s chest subsides significantly at this command. It’s almost enough to make him smile, but he refrains. He can’t look _too_ happy about this news in front of the King. Instead, he bows at the waist. “As you wish, your Highness.”

“You have until the next full moon to adjust to the way of life here, Castiel. The Matron will be retiring then and you will fully assume her duties then. I trust you have been advised of what that will entail?” The King asks, turning way to pace back to the windows.

“Yes, sir, I have.” After a pause, Castiel clears his throat. “Although, I do have one question.” He waits for a nod before he speaks it. “Would it not have been more efficient to have me observe Matron and her duties rather than hear them second hand from another servant?”

King Winchester shakes his head slowly. “Matron is being replaced not just because of her age, but because of her hatred for the Aladaï. It would have been far more difficult for everyone, including my sons, had I placed you under her tutelage.”

Understandable. Castiel is quite pleased that he hasn’t had the misfortune of meeting her yet.

“Are there any other concerns I need to know about?”

There is one more matter that Castiel wants to address, but he’s not sure of it is appropriate for him to mention it. He highly doubts that the King will allow this change as well, but he hesitates for a moment too long and the King turns to him with a raised eyebrow. “What is it?”

Castiel takes a deep breath and utters a silent prayer. “I am – I cannot move properly in these clothes. They limit my motions and I fear that when the time comes to defend the princes, I will not be able to move properly.”

“Learn to.” King Winchester turns away. “You live in my kingdom now, and you will dress as is appropriate for our customs.”

“I understand. Thank you, your Highness.”

With his issues dealt with and nothing further to discuss with the King, Castiel excuses himself with another bow. There are several chores he has to perfect today and if Ruby or Meg or _anyone_ gives him any trouble for it, he knows now that he can refute their criticism when he knows he’s done a fine job. There will be no more silence while they abuse him with their words.

*

Finally being allowed to speak against Prince Dean’s harsh words is not helping to convince the young prince that Aladaï are not the barbarians he has been raised to believe they are. Even so, Castiel has had _enough_ of Prince Dean’s taunts and insults.

“Stay away from us!” He shouts while waving a small wooden sword at Castiel, intricately carved and likely made just for him. “Matron said –”

Castiel crouches and ignores the way the stockings slide uncomfortably down his thighs under his tunic or the way the wide belt digs into his belly. “I couldn’t care less about what Matron said. In a few days’ time, I will be your caretaker. The King has decreed that you are to listen to me as you did Matron and I am saying that play time is over.”

“We don’t want to go to bed!” Prince Dean gestures over his shoulder to where Prince Sam is sitting with a doll clutched to his chest, eyes wide as he watches them. “We’re not going to listen to a dirty –”

“Call me anything but my name and you can spend tomorrow’s play time in that chair –” Castiel points without looking at the table where the chess board is set up. “– while revising your lessons of the day. Prince Sam will be allowed to play and _you_ will only get to watch him.”

Colour fills the prince’s face and he bangs the end of his toy sword against the floor. “You can’t do that!”

“I can. Your father told me so.” Castiel stands again and points toward the door. “Would you like me to take you to him so he can tell you himself? I’m sure his royal Highness will be very pleased to have his business interrupted.”

Prince Dean pales at the threat and he glances over his shoulder at his brother, as if looking for guidance about what he should do. All Prince Sam does is shake his head, his eyes growing impossibly wider. With his mouth set in an unhappy frown, Prince Dean throws his sword down and stomps away from Castiel to help Sam to his feet. He throws one last glare over his shoulder at Castiel before he tugs his brother after him, dragging him toward the doors.

That could have gone better.

Castiel sighs and rubs a hand over his face as he follows after the princes, leaving instructions with the knight by the door to summon a servant to put their toys away. It seems silly to have someone else do a task that the princes could easily do on their own and Castiel makes a mental note of that. He may not know exactly how to properly raise a child, but he does know how to be a decent human being. It will just take him some time to figure out the correct methods through which to do it.

*

By the time Castiel takes full charge of the princes, next to nothing has changed. Prince Dean is slightly better behaved and it only takes a few repeats of a request (since it is not Castiel’s place to _command_ a prince) for him to actually listen to it. But his harsh words have only gotten worse. Castiel suspects that in her final days with them, Matron made sure to fill the princes’ heads with as much of her hatred for the Aladaï as possible.

He wonders how long it will take him to cleanse them of her taint.

A bitter weight still hangs in his chest whenever he catches sight of the other members of his tribe sparring with the knights in the training fields. The closest to fighting that Castiel has come to so far has been showing the princes’ a few of the moves that he will be teaching them in the coming sasons. They were terrified yet intrigued by the display and he hopes they might find equal ground there.

Castiel has found that people are never more truthful about themselves then when they are on the field of battle. He might have to wait until they are old enough to properly spar before he learns the princes’ true natures. Until then, Castiel will have to do his best to swallow his envy of the other Aladaï and everything else that still annoys him.

The clothing, the food, the accommodations, and the people with their veiled dislike for him purely based on his heritage – everything adds up as needles under his skin and Castiel _hates_ it. He longs for the plains and forests of the tribe lands and his mother tongue. It feels like ages have passed since he spoke his own language and he fears that, in time, he might forget it.

In truth, Castiel fears that with each passing day he forgets a little bit more about his homeland.

*

Today has felt unacceptably long. The sun is barely past its zenith and Castiel still has a long way to go until he can tuck the princes into their beds and retire to his own room. Prince Dean has been in a foul mood since he woke to having had an accident in his bed during the night and he has done nothing but make Castiel’s life difficult for it. As if, somehow, Castiel is the one to blame for why he accidentally relieved himself in his sleep.

At least it gives him something to do while they are in their lessons. Technically speaking, Castiel should be with them at all hours of the day now that he is the princes’ primary caregiver and their protector. But in the company of their tutors and the ever present knights, it’s acceptable for him to leave for short periods of time to attend to other matters.

In today’s case, it’s stripping Prince Dean’s bed of his soiled bedding and sneaking it into the wash so none of the other servants will know what happened. Before his sour mood had taken effect, that request was, perhaps, the first time Prince Dean has actually been nice to Castiel. He asked instead of demanded and never looked him in the eye, instead staring at his feet. In an effort to foster a better relationship with the prince, Castiel had sworn that he would make sure no one else would know what had happened.

Truthfully, Castiel is almost touched that Prince Dean would turn to him for this. He was under the impression that the prince hated him. Although… that could be the reason why he asked him for his assistance. It’s possible that Prince Dean would prefer that people he has known his whole life not see something he finds embarrassing. Though Castiel can’t quite understand why he would choose for someone he dislikes to see it instead. In either case, Castiel will accept it. He’s getting tired of the constant animosity between them.

If his relationship with the other servants can improve as it has, then maybe Castiel can be lucky enough that both the princes will be more accepting of him too. After an incident with one of the haywards in the garden, when Castiel firmly reminded everyone that he is a person and not an animal, no one has been outright rude to him since. But Castiel is not happy with respect being given out of fear. It leaves him feeling uncomfortable and ultimately alone. And _that_ is a constant weight on his shoulders. No matter how often he is surrounded by people, Castiel does not feel like one of them.

Though Ash has made the effort to be kinder. He even invited Castiel to join him at one of the pubs beyond the castle walls. Castiel made it clear that he wanted to go, but he is still too new to his duties to the princes to leave the castle just yet. Maybe in another few moons he will be comfortable enough to leave them in the care of the knights after they have been put to bed.

For now, Castiel doesn’t want to leave any opening for kidnappers or assassins. He thinks about it while the princes are with their tutors and he busies himself with stripping their beds for laundry. During the upheaval in staff like this, with Aladaï being brought in and Castiel taking Matron’s position, taking advantage of the confusion and unrest in the staff would be a most excellent time to make an attempt on the lives of the royalty. And Castiel _refuses_ to let his guard down for even a moment.

He prides himself on being a good fighter – even though there has been no available chance to really prove that since he started living in the Lowlanders’ kingdom. Even after nearly a whole moon here, Castiel still finds it hard to comprehend why _he_ of all the available Aladaï was traded during the treaty. It’s a question that has been bothering him since he found out and his Chieftain was gone before he could ever had the time to ask it.

Castiel never expected to get the answer here, and from the other servants no less.

The laundry room is always so busy. Spanning along one side of the room are basins full of water and suds. Some of the laundresses are busy at tables, mixing the lye soap needed for the washing. A few others are standing at the basins filled with steaming water and they use long paddles to stir the contents. And others are busy with draping the laundry across flat stones and tables where they beat the clothing and bedding clean. The entire room is strung with the washing, dripping dry into puddles that seep away into the cracks in the stone floor.

Castiel had been fascinated by the way the Lowlanders do laundry when he first arrived. Aladaï simply take their few items of clothing and perhaps their bedroll to a river downstream from where they draw their drinking water to rinse and beat their clothing clean on the rocks. Then everything is left to dry on a rack in the sun outside their tents. It was always a common sight to see Aladaï walking naked through the tribe while all their clothing was drying.

Voices rise above the busy sound of the laundress’ work as Castiel slips unnoticed between the dripping blankets. His goal is to add Prince Dean’s soiled bedding into one of the basins without being questioned and preferably not being seen. He stops moving when he hears his name.

“– about Castiel’s role in the peace treaty?”

“I thought I heard something about how the King said it was because he’s an exceptional warrior and it was a sign of trust between our peoples?”

“No, no! You haven’t talked to the other Aladaï yet, have you?”

Castiel comes to a stop, hidden from sight behind the hanging blankets. With the noise of the laundry room, it’s difficult to discern who the gossiping laundresses are, but he can hear almost every word and his ribs pinch painfully around his lungs, making it hard to breathe. What have the other Aladaï been saying? Did the Chieftain lie to him? What does Castiel not know that these laundresses do?

“What are they saying?”

“They’re telling all the knights and soldiers that it was _strategy_.”

The other laundress’s voice fills with fear and Castiel tightens his grip on reflex, digging his fingers into the bedding in his arms. “What does that mean? Are the Aladaï planning to attack us or hurt the princes or the King or –”

“No, of course not. Calm yourself. Not even the Aladaï would think about breaking the treaty. It’s far too profitable for them through trade.” The other laughs but Castiel finds no relief in it. “What I heard from the soldiers is that the Aladaï _generals_ were the ones who convinced the Chieftain he should be traded to the King.”

“Why would they go and do something like that?”

Castiel holds his breath to hear the answer.

“They said it was out of _fear_. Imagine that! And the Aladaï think _we’re_ all about politics. Hah!”

The other laundress’s voice dips into confusion while Castiel’s anger only grows. “I don’t understand.”

“Of course you don’t. I haven’t finished telling you everything, have I?” The first snorts and there’s the wet sound of clothing being lifted from a basin. “It’s those generals that pushed for Castiel to get traded. They told the Chieftain that giving over such a promising warrior would show their desire for peace.”

“I still don’t see any sense in this.”

But Castiel does. He can see it. Of course he always suspected that the generals had a role to play, but he never knew why. His answer is _fear_. Castiel was rising through the ranks in the tribe quickly. He could have been the youngest general the tribe has in decades – if he had been allowed to continue fighting and proving his worth.

Though it’s true that the generals earn their place, a general merely _commands_ their garrison. There is no requirement for a general to go out to battle. Some say that’s an advantages – but some generals do disregard it and go out to battle alongside their shoulders. Those who choose to stay are welcome to, and they need only be able to defend themselves if their position should ever be challenged by any other warrior.

Castiel was a threat to them. There has been no change to the generals in _years_. They are old and strong and change does not usually come easy to the Aladaï people. It took the Chieftain an age to talk all the many tribes into agreeing that a peace treaty with the Lowlanders was in everyone’s best interest. Though that ‘best interest’ only seems to be for those who remained in the tribe lands.

As it currently stands, Castiel is nearly trembling with rage. How _dare_ they? To protect their own pitiful hides they took away everything – _everyone_ – he knew? They were so _afraid_ of him that they threw him into a land full of people who despise him where he suffers daily with their hate and their prejudices? Those cowards!

If it were possible, Castiel would leave the castle immediately to return to the tribe lands and challenge each and every one of them. He can show them just how rational their fears were. But that isn’t allowed. He has duties here now and for the sake of the rest of his people, he can’t just _leave_ – no matter how badly he wishes he could.

Laughter breaks through the furious cloud filling his head. The laundresses are giggling to themselves and his attention had not been on them to know why. For a brief moment, Castiel is struck with the anxiety that the laughter is directed at _him_. It only fuels his anger and he bites his tongue as he shoves his way through the blankets to reveal himself to the rest of the room.

Silence falls almost immediately and all eyes turn to him. Castiel says nothing and he barely even looks at any of them as he dumps the bedding into one of the basins. Without a word, he turns on his heel and strides away. No sooner is he out of sight does Castiel hear the heated whispers start again. They must know that their gossiping was overheard and soon the whole castle will be talking about this. He would find it embarrassing if he could think properly through the rage blinding him.

Not for the first time, Castiel longs for something to hit. He wants to fight. There is a _need_ under his skin, clawing to be free. Fighting is all he has ever known and he’s been denied it for so long. How much longer can he hold out before he breaks? Worse yet, Castiel is too upset to care who his anger will eventually be unleashed upon.

*

When Castiel arrives to watch the princes through the last of their lessons, he is not pleased to find that Prince Dean is blatantly not paying any attention to the tutors _and_ he’s distracting Prince Sam at the same time. Castiel says nothing of it until he escorts them to the dining hall. The banquet tables go unused outside of gatherings and there is a smaller yet equally ornate table set up in an alcove specifically for the princes.

He waits until Prince Dean is seated before he addresses his concerns. “Why were you not paying attention to your studies, your Highness?”

“They were boring.” Prince Dean huffs, glaring up at Castiel as he leans his head back to make room for him to tuck a napkin into his collar.

Castiel doesn’t move and he presses his hands into his thighs to keep them still. “And I find it boring to do the tasks that an able bodied child such as yourself can easily do on your own.” He tilts his head to the napkin on the table. “You’re welcome to do it yourself, my prince.”

His eyes go wide and Prince Dean glances across the table at his brother incredulously before he turns his glare back to Castiel. “You’re supposed to do it for me!”

“I’m your protector and your caretaker, not your wet nurse. It’s my duty to raise you as proper young men and the only way I know how is to show you how to be self-sufficient. You might not always have a servant at your beck and call. If you want to keep your clothing clean while you eat, I suggest tucking your napkin in properly.” Turning away, Castiel finds Prince Sam staring at him in equal disbelief. “Would you like assistance with your napkin, your Highness?”

An angry flush fills Prince Dean’s cheeks when Prince Sam shakes his head and fumbles to do it on his own. His chubby child fingers are not quite as adept at tucking it into his collar and it falls out a few times before he blushes and slumps in his chair. Castiel’s ire subsides slightly and he crouches next to him. Carefully, so as not to startle him, Castiel takes Prince Sam’s hands and guides them into tucking the napkin in properly.

“A job well done, your Highness.” He rests his hand on Prince Sam’s head for a brief moment before he turns a hard look on Prince Dean. “I will provide assistance if you’re incapable of doing it.”

With a dark frown unfit for the face of someone so young, Prince Dean snatches his napkin from the table and throws it to the floor. He crosses his arms and glares at Castiel, a clear challenge apparent in his eyes. If he thinks that today, of all days, Castiel will allow his attitude to reign – the crown prince is sorely mistaken.

“How unfortunate.” Castiel murmurs, gesturing for a servant waiting to the side to bring their food. “It would be unwise of me to allow my prince to eat something that might dirty his clothing without the proper protection. You can have your food once your napkin is in place.”

“You can’t do that!” Prince Dean slams his small hands on the table, making Prince Sam and the other servant jump slightly in their places.

“Would you care to ask the King if I can?” He asks coolly, never wavering from his flat stare.

This is a challenge Castiel would lose if Dean accepts it. This punishment is extreme and the King might take issue with it. But Castiel would never completely deny the prince his meal. He has simply had _enough_ of this attitude and he will _not_ permit it. Especially not today.

While Prince Dean hesitates with the mention of his father, Castiel takes the tray from the other servant and sends them on their way. His own supper was eaten quickly before he fetched the princes from their last lessons. Even still, he must try a small portion of everything on their plates to ensure that nothing has been poisoned. It would be wiser to have another servant do this, but Castiel would rather put his own life at risk than that of another innocent.

Once he’s certain that Prince Sam’s plate is safe, he places it in front of him. “Enjoy your meal, your Highness. If there is anything else you need, please ask.”

“Thank you, Cas.” Prince Sam murmurs, using the shortened version of Castiel’s name that only the princes have used so far. Prince Dean is entirely capable of pronouncing Castiel’s full name but chooses not to, and Prince Sam stumbles on the syllables.

He makes no move to touch his food. His wide eyes are still focused on his brother across the table. Prince Dean’s glare slips from Castiel to Prince Sam and it immediately softens. Within his first day here, Castiel had noted that the crown prince has a large soft spot for his younger brother. It is knowledge that has proven useful in getting Prince Dean to comply to almost anything Castiel asks of him. Prince Sam is still early in his fourth year of age. He is young, soft spoken, and seems unwilling to actively participate in the conflict that Prince Dean continues to raise with Castiel.

“ _Fine_.” Prince Dean hisses, as if answering a silent conversation. He slides from his chair to pick up his napkin and glares at Castiel as he shoves it into his collar.

It’s not hanging properly, but Castiel accepts it. His anger ebbs just a little more as he quickly tastes Prince Dean’s food too before he places the plate in front of him. He holds his hand in front of the plate when Prince Dean reaches for it and is rewarded with a look of outrage.

“May I fix your napkin, your Highness?”

The outrage flickers into confusion but Prince Dean doesn’t stop Castiel from straightening the napkin. He steps away quickly, ignoring the mixed glare before the princes’ attentions turn solely to their food and the nearly nonsensical conversation they were having previously. Castiel barely pays it mind. His thoughts slip easily back into the whirlwind that has been storming through his head since the laundry room earlier today.

Thinking about it only renews his anger and he employs deep breathing to focus himself again. It gives him the strength to lock the anger away as the meal comes to a close and he escorts the princes to their playroom, leaving the dishes for another servant to attend to. He stands in silence in the corner of the room, barely watching as the princes play.

It’s only the clatter of a nail in the metal pan under the candle clock hanging on the wall that reminds Castiel of the time. He makes a mental note to thank the servant in charge of keeping the clocks lit. More often than not, Castiel relies on the sun and the sky to tell the time of day – though spending so much of his time indoors does make that difficult. These candle clocks are ingenious and he especially likes how the Lowlanders stick a nail into the candle to mark a certain time. When the wax burns down, the nail falls and it’s an excellent timer.

In this case, it is the signal that the princes should retire to their bedroom now. Both of them have stopped playing and turned nearly identical frowns at the candle hanging in its hour-etched frame on the wall. Clearly they would rather that play time continue for a little longer and, were he in a better mood, Castiel might be inclined to let it as a reward for at least attempting to take care of their own napkins at supper.

As soon as Castiel steps away from the wall, the princes look to him. Prince Sam’s expression falls while Prince Dean’s only hardens. “We want to keep playing.”

“You know the rules your father has laid down for you. It’s time to prepare for bed.” He doesn’t mention that Prince Dean’s bedding has been changed.

Their bedding usually gets changed over every other day and their mattresses are emptied, washed, and re-stuffed weekly to avoid any infestations by lice or other irritating insects. It might have been too soon for the bedding to be washed today, but no one has questioned it and Castiel is sure that Prince Dean would rather it never be mentioned again.

Castiel gathers a few of the toys strewn across the floor as he crosses the room, pausing long enough to place them on the shelves and in chests where they belong. “Come put away the toys you’re playing with before we go to wash up.”

The request draws confusion across both of the princes’ faces. Prince Dean’s small frown only grows deeper. “Putting away the toys is a servant’s job.”

“And I will have someone clean the rest of the room, but you’re completely capable of putting away the toys you have in your hands.”

Prince Sam gets to his feet and starts picking up the blocks of wood he had been using to erect several towers, a few of which have already been knocked over while Prince Dean had played at being a giant. He only manages to get a half dozen in his arms before his brother knocks them to the ground again.

“Don’t do that, Sammy!” Prince Dean turns a furious glare on Castiel. “This is a _servant’s_ work. We’re _princes_ and we don’t have to do it!”

“We _servants_ are busy enough without having to do the very things that you are capable of doing yourself.” Castiel bites out, pushing back the flare of irritation burning behind his ribs. “How do you expect to run a kingdom if you can’t even dress yourself on your own? What will you do if your kingdom falls to ruin and you end up as nothing more than a peasant? You’ll starve within a week.”

His small, round face goes red and Prince Dean tosses aside the toys in his hands. “You can’t say things like that to me!”

“On the contrary, I am here to ensure your survival. What I am _trying_ to teach you – apparently in vain – is how to do that.” He crosses the room to stand over the prince, putting the double height he has over him to use. “You’re welcome to do as you please, but the King asks that I keep him apprised of my progress with you. I highly doubt that he’ll be pleased to hear how disobedient his son is.”

“Stop using my father against me.” Prince Dean nearly whispers, his small frame starting to tremble as he cranes his neck to look up at him. “We don’t have to listen to you. I can have father remove you.”

Castiel doesn’t bother to hide how he rolls his eyes. “You would do me a great service by it.”

“If you don’t want to be here, then _leave_.”

His anger is a disease searing through Castiel’s veins and it clouds his judgment, loosening his tongue. “Trust me, my prince. Were it in my power to do so, I _would_.” He ignores the shock that flickers through Prince Dean’s eyes. “I fail to understand why Prince Sam is willing to listen and yet _you_ continue to defy me in ways you never would have if I were Matron.”

“It’s because he’s _afraid_!” Prince Dean hisses. “Matron said your people are _monsters_. Sammy doesn’t want you to kill him in his sleep and take his skin for yourself. And you’re _not Matron_. I don’t have to listen to you because Matron said you’re just a _filthy heathen_.”

Castiel can almost imagine that he hears the snapping sound as the restraints holding back his temper finally break under the strain. With the calm fluidity that usually accompanies his movements in battle, he grabs Prince Dean by the arm and starts to pull him toward the doors. He can feel the prince struggling against his grip, but Castiel merely tightens it. Clearly the words and actions he has taken thus far are ineffective. If Prince Dean insists on insulting him and his people, Castiel will show him just how the Aladaï deal with unruly children who refuse to be polite or respectful to anyone. For that, he requires a switch from a bush or tree outside.

With his rage blinding and deafening him, Castiel is unaware of the tears streaming down Prince Dean’s face until soldiers are all but wrestling them apart. The wide-eyed terror on the prince’s face is enough to cool the fires of Castiel’s anger, though the embers still fester deep behind his ribs. It’s a sickening jolt back to reality and what he was about to do. The sting of regret aches behind his chest at seeing that he caused Prince Dean to cry.

A horrified servant quickly ushers Prince Dean down the hall to where Ruby is standing with Prince Sam clinging to the skirt of her dress, his own cheeks wet with tears. He lets go of her when his brother is close enough, running to him for a tight hug. Ruby looks vindictively triumphant as the soldiers take Castiel by the arms and march him away.

Castiel could fight them off if he wanted to, but the red fog in his head has cleared enough for him to see the errors in his actions. Everything he has already done might very well cause tension with the newly formed peace treaty. Any further action would ruin it completely and he could never live with himself knowing he cost his people that.

This is why he doesn’t object when he is taken to the dungeons below the castle. The corridors are lit with the flickering light of torches set in sconces along the walls. They lead him to a cell with a thick wood door, no window, and no light of its own. Castiel waits in the meager darkness, seated against the far wall with his hands hanging above his head. The manacles of the chains dig into his wrists, but the physical pain is easy to ignore when he focuses on the guilty weight settled over his heart.

It feels like a surprisingly short amount of time before the door swings open sharply and the King himself strides into the cell. He bears a torch in one hand and a scowl on his face. There is no dancing around the subject. King Winchester cuts to the topic at hand with the severity of a Ruler.

“What in God’s name were you planning on doing?”

If he were able, Castiel would be kneeling now with his head bowed properly. The chains of the manacles are far too short to allow for it and though he is flexible enough to kneel forward while still chained, Castiel fears that his clothing would rip under the strain and he has no desire to purchase new tunics with the coin he has saved in his room. As it is, he does not speak and his gaze stays focused on the floor.

“Speak and defend yourself, Castiel.”

He lifts his head, though he looks no further than the King’s feet. “I was going to switch him, my Lord.”

The King makes a startled noise. “You were going to _beat_ my son – the _crown prince_.” It is no question, only incredulous fact.

Castiel nods and swallows around a dry throat. “He was disrespectful to me and my people. I dealt with him no different than how his attitude would be handled were he a child in my tribe.”

“This is _not_ your tribe.” He bites out, speaking as if Castiel could ever forget that. “As his caretaker, being strict with Dean is acceptable. Physically beating is _not_. I expected better of you.”

“I’m a warrior.” The words feel heavy on his tongue. It’s been so long since Castiel has proven himself that it is starting to feel untrue. “I don’t know how to raise a child – let alone two Lowlander princes.”

“You will learn.” The King sighs and turns away. “Your actions cannot be left unpunished, Castiel.”

He expected nothing else. “I understand.”

After a moment’s pause, King Winchester turns around again. “I knew you were a fighter and I knew you would likely not have the experience of raising children. Regardless, I still gave you this position. Do you understand why I made that decision?”

“No, my Lord, I do not.”

“It’s no secret that the Matron despises Aladaï. Her hatred and the fear the other servants have for your kind has tainted my sons. I gave you the task to raise and protect them in the hopes that knowing you will help them grow without the prejudices the rest of our kingdom has.” The King sighs again and it sounds weary. “Your actions tonight have done nothing to aid how they see your people.”

The weight in Castiel’s chest grows and he dips his head, ashamed at the truth. “I am sorry.” He does not expect a second chance. Perhaps another Aladaï will be assigned to the princes in his place and they will do a better job.

“I trust you won’t make the same mistake again, Castiel.”

He lifts his head in surprise, his thoughts stuttering around the slow realization that this won’t be his end. His tongue trips over the Lowlander language as he hides his relief. “Thank you, your Highness. You have my word.”

“Good.” The King gestures over his shoulder and one of the dungeon keepers slides into the cell, a multi-thonged scourge in hand. “Your punishment will be swift. You will be whipped until first blood and a servant will attend to you after. In the morning, you may resume your duties.”

Castiel bows his head again, already centering himself to brace for the pain that has yet to come. “As you command, my King.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As he closes the door, Castiel catches one more whisper that turns his blood to ice. “Dean, who is that?”

His back aches with every movement that he makes. Castiel can feel the thin rivulets of blood tracing paths down his skin and soaking into the edge of the cloth wrapped around his waist and between his legs. It’s the only item of clothing, aside from his stocking and boots, that the dungeon keeper allowed him to wear. His tunics lay in an unkempt pile next to him, splattered with the blood from the whipping.

The dungeon keeper was supposed to stop at first blood, as the King had commanded, but he had continued well past that. This was something Castiel had been trained to withstand and suffer through in silence. He had removed himself from his body and receded deep within his mind, accepting the pain as it came without making a sound.

But it’s the words of the dungeon keeper that haunt him. They were hissed in sync with the final strike and they echo in the hollow silence of Castiel’s mind long after he has been left in the dark cell, kneeling on the thrush strewn floor.

“ _Learn your place,_ _barbarian_.”

The insult stings almost as much as the physical pain from the last bite of the scourge. Tonight, Castiel has earned that name. He let his anger get the best of him and there is no doubt in his mind that he deserved this punishment. In the Lowlander kingdom, Castiel counts himself lucky that he still has his life considering that it was the _crown prince’s_ backside he was planning to beat with whatever switch he could find outside first.

Even in the tribe lands, his actions would have been unacceptable. To let one’s anger take control like that; to lose his mind, his purpose, _himself_ – Castiel is ashamed. So much so that he finds it difficult to lift his head and look Ash in the eye when he comes to collect him. They say nothing as Ash gathers Castiel’s tunics and hands them to him. He holds them to his chest, his eyes fixed on the floor as he is led from the dungeons.

Castiel follows Ash to the servants’ bathing rooms where, with silent commands, he is instructed to sit on a stool next to an empty basin. Instead of dropping a bucket into the well to draw up the cold water, Ash removes a kettle from the coals behind the fire grate. He carefully dumps the steaming water into a bucket and brings that to Castiel’s side, a sponge in his hand.

“I steeped the water with herbs that should help with the healing.” Ash explains as he moves to stand behind him. “Do you want me to bandage this too? The doctors have linen strips they boil clean that they use to wrap the wounds of the soldiers. I can get some –”

He shakes his head and hunches his shoulders. “You don’t need to help him. I can tend to this myself.”

“You could, but I’m still going to help you.” To accentuate his point, Ash presses the damp sponge to Castiel’s back. “With the way you’re acting, you’re not making many friends here, Castiel. Maybe you should think again before trying to push away the few that you do have.”

It is a bare trickle of warmth through the otherwise frozen depths of Castiel’s chest that Ash considers him enough of a friend to help him now. He ducks his head with a murmured apology on his lips. There is a certain comfort in letting someone else take care of him, though Castiel can’t stop himself from dwelling on his actions tonight. Despite how the King refrained from dissolving the peace treaty, Castiel fears that he might have destroyed more than that where the princes are concerned.

He hugs his tunics just a little tighter and bites back a wince as Ash dabs over the wider cuts. “How are the princes?” They were crying the last that he saw of them.

“Upset.” Ash sighs, rinsing the sponge in the bucket. “If you were trying to win them over, I think that ship has long sailed, my friend. Can I ask you something?” He continues, even though Castiel gives no answer. “I don’t understand _why_ you were going to do that.”

Suddenly, Castiel feels very tired. He rubs a hand over his face and slouches forward to rest his elbows on his knees. “I was angry and I had enough of Prince Dean’s attitude. I fail to see why, even with his royal blood, anyone would cater to such a brat.”

A laugh is the last thing Castiel expects to hear now and he glances over his shoulder, a curious frown creasing his forehead. “What do you find so amusing?”

“Our young highness is not as bad as you might think he is, Castiel.” Ash practically grins at him as he continues to wipe down his back. “We just know him a little better than you do. I would bet a King’s pocket of coin that you don’t know that Prince Dean has raised Prince Sam more than Matron or any servant has. I’m almost certain he changed more diapers than the lot of us too.”

“How is that just cause for his attitude?”

“I’m getting there.” He rinses the sponge again. “Prince Dean isn’t always pushy with the rest of us. No more than any child his age, at least. It’s been difficult for him since the Queen died when Prince Sam was barely a year old. He was very close to the Queen and her death affected him the most.” Ash pauses and when Castiel glances over his shoulder again, he looks sad. “Matron only took over the duty of raising them when the Queen died.”

Castiel frowns down at his lap, going over this new information in his head. Why is this the first that he’s heard of it? “And Matron instilled in the princes her prejudices for the Aladaï.”

“Exactly.” Ash claps him on the shoulder when he throws the sponge down into the bucket. “You have a lot to learn about children, my friend. The princes are harsh with you because they’re _afraid_ of your kind. If you had heard the stories Matron used to tell about your kind –” He whistles as he stands. “You know, I kind of wish you had the chance to meet her.”

“I deal with enough hatred from the rest of you. I don’t need hers too.” Castiel stands, trying not to move too much. It feels as though the bleeding has stopped and he would prefer not opening them again. That will make putting his tunics on again rather difficult, but he should be able to figure something out.

“Stay here. I’m going to fetch the bandages from the doctor’s quarters.”

The heavy wood door booms shut behind him as Ash slips into the passage ways. Castiel moves to stand by the fire, an attempt to fight the damp, cool air filling the chamber. He can’t help thinking over Ash’s words while he watches the flames flicker in the grate. They were meant to be a comfort or of some assistance to him, but they have done little to change his disposition. Though Castiel might understand the princes slightly better than before, he finds it difficult to accept that for everyone else Prince Dean is a sweet little boy and for _him_ , he’s a monster.

Regardless of Castiel’s understanding to everything fueling _why_ Prince Dean acts as he does, the crown prince and his brother are still prejudiced against him. After last night, he has only solidified their fears. How is he supposed to go about showing them that the Aladaï are better than that? Castiel barely knows how to raise a child as it is, let alone a Lowlander. How is he to overcome something they have been raised their whole lives to believe?

Will he have to change everything that he is to accomplish this?

*

Castiel is used to the cold stares on the back of his neck as he makes his way around the castle. It has only gotten worse since word spread about what he had attempted to do to Prince Dean. As difficult as it is, Castiel does his best to ignore it. Many of the servants were wary of him before, and that has not changed much – if at all. He has no intention of following that plan of action again. Now it is nothing but a matter of time for them to come to accept him.

Truthfully, Castiel has been trying his best to find alternative ways to punish Prince Dean’s poor behavior since that night. Unfortunately, this seems to only aggravate the prince’s attitude towards him. Thankfully, Prince Sam has yet to start emulating him.

“Give it back!” Prince Dean stomps his foot and tugs at the hem of Castiel’s tunic.

Ignoring him just as he ignores the uncomfortable stretch of the scabbed wounds across his back, Castiel places the toy swords that Prince Dean had been playing with on a shelf well out of his reach. “You can have these back when you learn my name.”

“I _know_ your name.” He starts tugging harder, making the already uncomfortably tight shoulders of the tunic stretch even tighter. “I want my toy! Give it back!”

“Your play time for the day is over.” Castiel turns to look down at Prince Dean, frowning when he quickly steps away and his eyes go wider. They flash with fear and it cuts into Castiel’s heart. “You can sit at the table and review your lessons from today until it’s time to retire. Or you may sit in the corner and watch Prince Sam play.”

Prince Dean’s cheeks go red and his hands ball into fists at his sides. “I have other toys I can play with. You can’t take them all away.”

“I can, and I will.” The familiar anger starts bubbling in the pit of Castiel’s stomach and he takes a deep breath, trying to smother it. “If you want to have uninterrupted time to play, you need to learn some respect for me and my kind.”

“When I’m King, I’ll –”

“When _you_ are _King_ , you’ll be expected to continue to uphold the peace treaty.” Castiel bites out, trying to keep his voice calm. “No Aladaï Chieftain will ever tolerate your foul mouth and you’ll bring war upon your kingdom again. Is that what you want?”

His bottom lip juts out in a pout and Castiel feels momentarily victorious when Prince Dean’s eyes drop to the floor. “No.”

“Then accept your punishment, _sit down_ , and think about _why_ I’m doing this.”

After a long moment where Castiel begins to doubt that he was able to convince Prince Dean to do as he says, the prince huffs angrily and stomps across the room. He climbs up into a chair and slouches against the back, his arms crossed over his chest as he glowers across the room. Prince Sam remains alone where they had been playing, though he appears to have forgotten completely about the ball he still holds in his hands.

They had been throwing it back and forth between each other before Prince Dean decided he wanted to try hitting it with one of his wooden swords. Castiel had warned him that doing so might damage the ball and that had inspired a rude comment with another derogatory slur for his people. It was nothing new, but Castiel’s patience for being called anything but his name has long since run out.

“Would you like to continue playing, my Lord?” He asks, turning his attention to Prince Sam. “I could hold one of these hoops and you could try throwing the ball through it. That would help build your coordination for when I start training you.”

Prince Sam’s face scrunches up, caught between fear and intrigue. His brother huffs again, making an unhappy sound and muttering under his breath. Castiel refuses to acknowledge him. If Prince Dean thinks he’s going to give him any attention while he’s being punished, then he is sorely mistaken. He sits on the floor near Prince Sam, far enough away that he doesn’t make the young prince nervous but close enough that he can hold a hoop at arm’s length for him.

It takes a few moments before Prince Sam gathers enough of his courage to actually throw the ball. He misses, but Castiel rolls it back to him and gives his softest smile to encourage him to try again. Prince Dean mumbles unhappily, but by the time the nail drops from the candle, Prince Sam is all smiles. Castiel even hears him whispering to his brother while they are changing into their nightshirts as he folds back the blankets on their beds in the other room.

“Is Cas really as bad as Matron said he is?”

He doesn’t hear Prince Dean’s answer, but both boys are silent as they climb into their beds. Castiel tucks Prince Sam in first before he turns around to do the same for Prince Dean. “Will you be trying to wander again tonight, your Highness?”

“Maybe.” In the candlelight, Prince Dean’s glare is petulant at best. “You’re just gonna need to stay up all night to make sure I don’t.”

“Little princes who leave their beds after curfew get double lessons the next day.” Castiel explains with a shrug, putting out the candles next to the bed one by one. “I’ll be in my room if you need me. Goodnight, my Lords.” He checks the locks on the balcony doors to make sure they’re firmly in place before he draws the curtains and bows from the room.

It’s difficult not to feel proud of himself for today. If this new method of punishment works, perhaps Castiel really will be able to convince Prince Dean that he – and all Aladaï – are not as bad as he has been led to believe.

*

Without a word, Castiel slips into the chair opposite Prince Dean at the table in the library. His small chin is propped on his fists and he glares at the open book in front of him as if he was attempting to set it ablaze with only his mind. If that really was one of his powers, Castiel would have likely been a charred husk within moments of their first meeting.

“Are you almost done?”

No answer is forth coming and Castiel clears his throat. “Your Highness, I asked you a question. Are you almost done your reading?”

“ _No_.”

“Then perhaps you should have stayed awake during your lessons today.” Castiel crosses his arms on the table top and leans on them. “I had hoped you had gotten past your desires to wander during the night hours. Apparently I was wrong.”

Prince Dean snorts and flips one of the pages. He had been up much later than his curfew last night and Castiel had spent a decent amount of time hunting him through the castle. The prince has, unfortunately, also memorized the passage ways reserved for the servants. If he’s smart enough to do that, Castiel finds it difficult to understand why the prince doesn’t put his abilities to good use and _pay attention_ during his lessons.

“I’m hungry.”

“Supper is had _after_ lessons. Finish your reading and then you can eat.”

It takes Castiel a moment to notice the tears gathering in Prince Dean’s eyes. None fall, but he does sniff and rub the sleeve of his tunic under his nose. Guilt tugs slightly at his insides and Castiel takes a deep breath. He knows that often times he is tough on Prince Dean, but he feels that – at least most of the time – it is deserved considering the prince’s attitude. But even _he_ can’t look at the tearful face of a child and feel nothing.

“How much reading do you have left?”

After another sniff and scrubbing the heel of his hand against his eyes, Prince Dean flips through the pages until he’s holding the amount he needs. The tutor had showed Castiel and he knows that Prince Dean is being truthful. He stands and leaves the prince at the table to continue reading while he calls another servant to fetch part of the meal.

Prince Dean looks honestly surprised when Castiel places a plate next to him. Sitting on it is the bread that would have accompanied his dinner. “This should tide you over until you’re finished. Read quickly. Prince Sam is waiting for you.”

Sniffling again, Prince Dean takes the bread and breaks it apart. “Thanks, Cas.” It still isn’t enough for Castiel to receive a smile from him. That day will likely never come, but he will have to satisfy himself with his thanks for now.

*

“Spread your feet wider!” Castiel uses the flat of his sword to tap between Prince Dean’s knees as he circles around him. “I told you – _shoulder width apart_. Are you even listening?”

Prince Dean turns another glare on him and shuffles in place, adjusting his position incrementally. It should be good enough, but Castiel feels rather vindictive this afternoon after what happened this morning. Prince Dean had been difficult both with waking up and refusing to eat part of the meal the servants had worked hard to prepare for him. Castiel knows that the prince doesn’t like to eat boiled eggs, but a picky eater is a sign of weakness and it’s his business to ensure that Prince Dean grows into a strong King one day.

He should at least be thankful that the whip wounds on his back have fully healed and since that night Prince Dean has gradually stopped calling Castiel names. Unfortunately, the future King still treats Castiel rather poorly.

“Not good enough.” Castiel sighs, tapping the sword against Prince Dean’s calf. “Wider. Look at Prince Sam. He has a perfect stance.”

A dark, angry flush fills the prince’s cheeks and his lips press together in a thin line. His arm is starting to tremble from holding up a short baton, a mimicry of the ones the knights train with, and any time it lowers, Castiel uses the flat of his blade to raise it back into position. He won’t let Prince Dean put his arm down until he is satisfied with his stance. Luckily for the prince, his most recent correction is as perfect as Castiel thinks he can get from him.

“Finally. That’s acceptable.” He turns away and gestures for Prince Sam to come closer. “Remember this stance. It centers your body and you can easily slide from defensive to offensive.” He does his best to demonstrate, though his boots don’t allow his feet to slide through the dirt as easily as he is used to. “Do you understand?”

Neither of them says anything and Castiel clears his throat, his eyes narrowing. They share a look and Prince Sam bobs his head first. After a moment, his brother does the same and they both murmur in monotone; “Yes, Cas.”

That took surprisingly less effort than he thought. For the first time in a long time, Castiel feels a fine line of hope slip through his chest. Perhaps they _are_ making progress after all.

*

Castiel is not happy. Meg had called him to the kitchen a while after the princes were put to bed and it was a pointless endeavor. She only told him what the plans were to be for their meals tomorrow. He was the one who picked the meals, so clearly he already knew what they would be eating. Castiel suspects that she did it purely to waste his time – time that he could have used to meditate away his frustrations of the day or actually _sleep_.

While he was gone, Castiel had positioned a few soldiers outside the princes’ bedroom to watch over them. When he returns, the guards go back to their posts further down the corridor. Castiel doesn’t notice the voices in the bedroom until he has retired to his own room. The door between his quarters and theirs is much thinner than the ornate main doors from the hall. It’s the whispers that catch his attention and Castiel glances out the window, frowning at the moon in the sky. They should have been sleeping before he was even summoned by Meg.

Carefully, Castiel pulls the door open a crack. It is entirely possible that one of the princes simply had a nightmare and the other is only comforting him. From the fire in the grate, there is just enough light in the room for Castiel to see that both of them are in Prince Dean’s bed. He almost stops breathing when he hears a loud sniffle. One of them is crying. Why? What happened?

“I don’t want to, Sammy.” Prince Dean’s voice is thick with tears and Castiel frowns into the dark. What upset him this time? “I don’t want tomorrow to come.”

“It’s okay, Dean.” Prince Sam whispers and the blankets on the bed rustle as he moves closer.

“No, it’s _not_. Cas is just going to be mean to me again.”

Castiel bites back a sound of surprise and something pulls tight in his chest. He knows that he has been very strict with Prince Dean, but he had been under the impression that their relationship had been _improving_. And yet, the prince is crying. Is this the first night that it’s happened? A large part of him fears that it might not be.

“Cas is _always_ mean to me.” Prince Dean whispers around another sniffle. “You have it easy, Sammy. And I’m trying really hard to be good too, right? I’ve been good!”

Prince Sam hushes his brother with soft sounds. “I know, Dean. I saw.”

“But Cas _hates_ me.” The conviction in Prince Dean’s words only weighs heavier on Castiel’s heart. “If he was allowed to hit me, I bet he would, Sammy.” He chokes back a quiet sob and Castiel’s grip on the handle of the door tightens. “I don’t want to do it, Sammy. I don’t want to go to my lessons tomorrow and have Cas be angry at me all day. I _don’t_.”

Castiel takes a step away from the door, turning to rest with his back against the wall. He feels dizzy and sick to his stomach as the realization truly hits him. Like an epiphany, a fog in Castiel’s mind has cleared so quickly he can barely breathe because of it. For the last fortnight, at least, he had thought they had been making progress.

Prince Dean _has_ been better behaved, but Castiel is the one who has yet to change the way he acts. _He_ is the reason behind Prince Dean’s tears – yet again. This is his fault and he has truly made a mess of things. This is worse than when he had planned to use the switch on him. That was his own fault for allowing his anger to take control. Castiel has no excuse for this.

He has no one and nothing but himself to blame. Prince Dean is a _child_. Whether or not Castiel thought he was being strict and doing the right thing, when he looks back on the days they’ve had together he can see what he truly was – truly _is_. Castiel has been almost every bit the monster that the princes were raised to believe the Aladaï were. _Again_.

His anger, his resentment, and everything Castiel never used to feel has blinded him to his own actions. For each instance that he can remember being harsh with Prince Dean, Castiel can clearly recall excusing his actions as justice for past offences. And yet, it never occurred to him to remember that he is dealing with a _child_ of no more than eight years of age. A _child_ that he has been taking his frustrations out on in one form or another.

This is unacceptable. Castiel can hate his clothing and the castle, and he can dislike the Lowlanders’ way of life. Every angry feeling can be felt, but it must be dealt with in a proper manner. He _cannot_ continue this way. As an adult nearing his nineteenth year and a warrior, Castiel should know better. The bitter taste of his regret turns his stomach and Castiel covers his mouth, forcing himself to breath deep through his nose while he reconciles this revelation and resolves from this point forward to start treating Prince Dean with the same level of kindness that he has thus far only been giving to Prince Sam.

“Don’t cry, Dean.” Sam’s soft whisper cuts through Castiel’s seething self-hatred. “I’ll sleep here, okay?”

That warms Castiel’s heart a little. Prince Sam is very sweet and has always been better behaved, but Castiel knows that it is purely out of fear. Where Prince Dean reacted to his fear with anger and a brash front, Prince Sam has used silence. He did as he was told and Castiel knows he’s been nicer to him because of it. But Prince Dean has been better behaved now too and he just couldn’t see it. Castiel was so _blind_ and stupid.

Worry starts to sing through his chest. How is he ever going to make this up to Prince Dean? How badly have his actions damaged their relationship? He would not be surprised in the least if their relationship is irreparable and they both spend the rest of their lives at odds with each other for it. Castiel can only hope that this will not be the case.

He decides against interrupting the princes right now. There are things he needs to think about and his own actions need to be analyzed. Castiel needs to decide how he can go about repairing what he has broken and – hopefully – finding a way never to make Prince Dean cry again. He’s been the cause of too many tears already and each drop weighs on his conscience.

As he closes the door, Castiel catches one more whisper that turns his blood to ice. “Dean, who is that?”

The balcony doors always creak when they open and Castiel hears it now. Even the breeze from outside reaches him, curling under the curtains partially obscuring his door and swirling around his boots. Those doors should not be able to open at night. Checking the locks and drawing the curtains is a part of his routine when he puts the princes to bed. Castiel knows, for a fact, that those doors were locked when he retired to his room earlier.

Someone unlocked them and he has no time to think about _who_ did it. The twin cries from the princes, full of fear and warning, turns Castiel’s frozen blood to fire. He throws his door wide and ducks through the opening between the curtains, fully facing the threat to his young Lords. A quartet of people in black cloaks, their faces hidden behind cloth masks, are moving across the room towards the princes where they sit on Prince Dean’s bed.

The calm of battle settles over Castiel’s mind even as red creeps into the edges of his vision. The princes are in danger and he is their protector. This is what he was brought here for and anyone who thought they could harm the princes has been grossly misinformed. Any thought of grabbing a weapon from his room – such as the dagger he keeps under his pillow or the sword tucked under the frame of his bed – doesn’t even enter into his thoughts. Castiel is completely focused on the four strangers foolish enough to think that _four_ would be enough to overpower him.

Fighting is what he was born for. This is something that comes as naturally to him as breathing and Castiel doesn’t spare a second thought before he launches himself on the nearest of the cloaked figures. The most important task right now is to keep the princes safe. Second to that is to ensure that at least one of these intruders is left alive for questioning later. Castiel _will_ find out why they are here, where they came from, and who let them in.

When the first figure turns to face him, Castiel seeks to incapacitate rather than kill. He doesn’t have the same traction on the floor with his boots as he would his bare feet and the layers of tunics that fall over his thighs are annoying. Castiel can feel his stockings slip as he twists out of the way of the scimitar the intruder draws from under their cloak. At least they don’t completely impede Castiel’s ability to duck under the swing of the blade and kick the knees out from the first attacker.

They stagger to the floor and it’s a simple matter for Castiel to side step and drive his elbow into the back of their head as they fall. Now there are only three enemies, but only one has turned their attention to him. Castiel numbers his opponents in his head. Number one lies motionless on the floor at his feet. Number two is running _past_ the princes and towards the main doors to the room. Three has turned to face him with their own scimitar drawn and their cloak thrown back over their shoulders to free their arms. Number four stands at the doors to the balcony, guarding their escape route.

Castiel spares a thought about Two’s actions before he disregards it completely at the sound of the lock sliding into place. No one has responded to the princes’ shouts just yet, and now their access to the room has been blocked. His own bedroom can’t be accessed from the main hall and it will take the Knights time to go around through the servant’s passages. He resolves himself with no small amount of delight to having to deal with these four on his own.

Even weaponless, Castiel is dangerous. His training was ruthless in preparing him to fight unarmed and he is in his element. Unfortunately, his poor clothing is not. It pulls tight across his shoulders when he avoids what would have been a brutal slash to his side from Three and it limits him as he tries to twist back in an attempt to grab their wrist and unarm them. The move does not go as planned. Castiel’s reach falls short and the soles of his boots slip on the stone floor, skidding backward with the force of Three’s momentum.

He barely manages to deflect a second thrust with the tip of the sword. Castiel slaps it away and twists to the side again, driving his elbow into Three’s shoulder and sending them to the ground. It would be better for him to deal with Three now, but Sam cries out again and draws his attention to the bed. Dean is standing on the blankets in front of his brother, putting himself between him and Number Two as they approach the princes.

Castiel feels the bite of the scimitar skate across the side of his thigh and he hisses in pain. Three is quickly getting to their feet, their sword already swinging again. The tip of the curved blade catches in the loose fabric of Castiel’s tunics along his side. It misses his skin, but rips through the clothing easily. He dodges another swipe and another, stumbling back from the flurry of strikes that would shred him if he got too close.

His fingers are deft at the clasp of his belt and Castiel removes it as he darts out of the way of the attack. It is a poor substitute for a whip, but at least his ingenuity catches Three by surprise. Throwing the belt at them is enough to stop Three’s attack and Castiel throws himself forward, aiming to tackle them to the ground. Castiel hears the sound of ripping cloth before he feels pain blossom across his skin. Three is a better swordsman than One and their scimitar slices cleanly into his left shoulder. It’s not deep, but it burns and it is enough of a distraction for a fist to catch him in the cheek, sending him sprawling on the floor almost on top of One.

“Get the princes!” Three hisses at Two and Four as Castiel struggles to shake the pain off. The chamber is spinning before his eyes and he tries to blink it away and focus. “I’ll finish the Aladaï scum.”

Scum. That is a new term Castiel has yet to hear. The definition is lost on him, but the scene by the bed is not. His concentration skips and stutters as he recovers from the strike, watching as Dean throws himself at Two with a shout.

“Run, Sammy! _Hide_!”

Something pulls tight in Castiel’s chest as Two easily catches Dean. Even though he struggles, kicking his legs and flailing his arms, Dean does nothing to stop Two from tucking him under their arm as they make a run for the balcony. Four is already entering the chamber and running toward the beds. They’re going to grab Sam too and Castiel is simply lying here, the blade of a scimitar about to slice into his belly.

This is unacceptable by all standards. Any Aladaï would be ashamed to be beaten so easily and Castiel’s hatred for the Lowlander clothing exceeds his patience. As Three raises their blade to bring it down on him, Castiel snaps his leg out, pushing himself up enough to catch them in the stomach. He sits up sharply, wincing at the searing burn in his shoulder and does his best to ignore it as he scrabbles at the laces of his boots.

As soon as the first boot is off, Castiel throws it at Four. His aim has always been impeccable and the heel of the boot catches them in the side of the head. The second boot is thrown at Three as they get a knee under them, clearly having recovered their wind from the blow to the stomach. One’s scimitar is close at hand and Castiel grabs it in the same motion he takes to stand. Three is not given the chance to rise again as he sprints past them, the tip of the sword catching them in the throat. It’s a lethal blow and they’ll bleed out in a matter of moments.

Grabbing the loose fabric by the wound in his shoulder, Castiel drags his tunics over his head. They obscure his vision, but only momentarily. His stockings have fallen past his knees and he kicks them off while he runs. Dean is in the most danger at the moment and Castiel places all of his focus on Two as they run for the ropes hanging from the balcony’s edge.

He crashes into them from behind at full speed, sending them all to the ground. Dean tumbles across the balcony, but it places him out of the intruder’s reach and Castiel is satisfied with it. Any bruises or scratches will heal. Castiel shows no mercy for Two as he pulls their head back by a hand on their forehead and drags the edge of the blade across their throat in one sharp, clean motion. He glances up only to make sure that Dean is alright – taking in his wide, red rimmed eyes and knowing that he saw everything – before Castiel stands to face the last of the intruders.

Four is in the middle of the room, their hand fisted in Sam’s hair to hold him in place before them. “Let me go or I’ll slit his throat.”

Castiel squares his shoulders and hefts the scimitar in his hand. It’s not the ideal weapon for what he plans to do, but it will get the job done. He’s sure of it. Tears are streaming down Sam’s face, his own wide eyes watching him too. That won’t do. It would be best that he doesn’t see what is about to happen. Four’s fatal mistake is pointing their sword at Castiel instead of at the prince.

“Close your eyes, Sam.” He says softly, just loud enough to be heard. “You too, Dean.”

There’s a sharp breath off to his side, but Castiel refuses to take his eyes off Sam to make sure that Dean is following his instructions. The point of Four’s scimitar wavers in the air, but his question is cut short before it even starts. As soon as Sam’s eyes fall shut, Castiel throws the blade in his hand. Throwing a heavy sword like a scimitar with one hand is harder than if it were a dagger, but his aim is just as true and Four drops without a sound.

A sniffle to his left draws Castiel’s attention back to Dean and he turns to him. “Are you alright, De –” When did he stop using their titles? The flurry of battle blurred his thoughts and all sense of _titles_ was forgotten. He should be more respectful than to use the princes’ first names. “Your Highness?”

Prince Dean has a cut on his forehead and a small trail of blood has worked its way down the side of his face and along his cheek. It mingles with the tears that slip from his eyes and Castiel stops thinking properly. His first reaction now is to comfort the prince and he doesn’t hesitate to scoop him into his arms, completely forgetting the blood staining his hands. Surprisingly, Prince Dean doesn’t fight him. He clings to Castiel’s shoulders and buries his face against his neck, hot tears already soaking his skin.

“I have you, my Lord. It’s alright now.” Castiel murmurs, holding him tightly as he carries Prince Dean back into the chamber where Prince Sam is still standing in the middle of the room, trembling violently with his eyes squeezed shut.

“Come here, Prince Sam.” He whispers and the young prince’s eyes snap open. He runs the short distance between them and Castiel ignores the burn in his shoulder to lift him too.

As tempting as the idea is to sit on the edge of one of the beds until all three of them have calmed down, Castiel thinks it would be better to get the princes out of a room filled with the stink of blood. It’s difficult to unlock the door with his arms full of sobbing children, but Castiel manages it. No sooner has the lock turned does the door fly open, nearly knocking Castiel from his feet. The sound of his own beating heart had drowned out the thudding noise of the Knights throwing themselves against the door in their vain attempts to open it.

“Three dead, one alive.” Castiel explains, pushing past the Knights and the confusion painted across their faces. “Take that one to the dungeons. I will question them later. Find the King and tell him I am taking the princes to the grand chamber in the east wing.” It’s the only other room he can think of fit to be a substitute bedroom for them.

A pair of knights escort Castiel to the east wing and along the way they are joined by a few servants. Castiel sends one off again to prepare another bath for the princes and find them new nightshirts to change into afterward. The other he sends to fetch the doctors. Prince Dean’s forehead needs to be tended to and both the princes should be checked over for any other injuries. His own wounds can be dealt with afterward.

Drying the princes’ tears is the most important thing right now.

*

“You’re injured.”

Castiel looks up from tying the lacing of Prince Dean’s new night shirt over his chest. Prince Sam is already scrambling out from under the blankets of the only bed in the room as the King shuts the doors behind himself, a worried frown creasing his face. The tears have not completely subsided, but both the princes are calm and quiet now. Prince Dean has been strangely clingy and had demanded that Castiel at least stay in his line of sight at all times, if not close enough for him to hold on to his hand or wrist.

“It’s only a scratch.” Dean mumbles, letting go of Castiel’s wrist to touch his forehead and the bandages the doctor had wrapped around it.

“I’m aware.” The King crosses the room and picks Prince Sam up from the edge of the bed, hugging him tightly. “The doctors have informed me of the situation and it’s good that you were not hurt further. They also told me that you refused any treatment, Castiel.”

With the lacing done, Castiel takes a step back and Prince Dean looks briefly panicked for the moment before the King sits next to him. He crawls into the King’s lap and buries his face in the folds of clothing over his chest. Now that the princes have their father to comfort them, Castiel lets himself relax slightly and acknowledge the aches and pain in his own body.

“They were trying to stop me from helping the princes.” He brings a hand to his shoulder and the makeshift bandage he has wrapped over it. It’s nothing but a strip of cloth he cut from one of the towels used to dry the princes, used to stem the bleeding. The cloth is soaked through with blood now, but at least he managed to keep from getting it everywhere while he was tending to the princes.  “I will allow them to see to me once I have made sure that Prince Dean and Prince Sam are comfortable again.”

“I can tend to that.” The King runs a hand through Prince Dean’s hair. It still needs to be brushed and tied into the loose tail that he keeps it in while he sleeps. “Go see to your own wounds, Castiel. And put some clothes on. You can’t run around the castle like that.”

Castiel had almost forgotten that during the course of the fight he had stripped down to nothing but his underclothing. Everyone else, himself included, have been too concerned with the princes to notice or comment on it. But it is good that the King is the one to bring it up now. This is the perfect time to discuss his issues with Lowlander clothing again.

“Prince Dean and I received these injuries because the clothing you force me to wear does not give me the same range of movement that my fighting style requires.” He looks down at himself and the bruises already growing along his legs and arms. “One of the intruders nearly got away with Prince Dean because I was injured when the tightness of the tunic kept me from moving properly.”

The King narrows his eyes and continues to run his hand through Prince Dean’s hair, his cheek resting against the top of Prince Sam’s head. After a few moments, he sighs. “Their safety is more important than proper fashion. What do you require?”

Relief and joy floods through Castiel’s frame and he has to force himself not to show it. “Clothing in the style that we were in my tribe. I still have the trousers that I brought with me from the tribe lands, but if you object to my not wearing a shirt, I also brought the clothing that my people wear during the colder seasons.” Everything is still in his pack, tucked away in a corner of his bedroom. “Something made of lighter material in the style of my winter shirt would satisfy your requirements and it would not be as restrictive as a Lowlander’s tunic.”

“We will arrange for one to be made for you. In the meantime, wear what you have.” King Winchester sighs and hugs both the princes to his chest tightly when one of them sniffles. “Is there anything else that you need?”

Castiel shifts of his feet and licks his lips. There is one last thing, but he has his doubts about whether or not the King will approve of this next request. He clears his throat and steels himself for his answer. “I do not brace myself into one position like your knights. I move during a battle and boots do not fit the fighting style I have been trained in. If I can’t feel the ground beneath my feet, it makes things difficult.”

One of the King’s eyebrows twitches up towards his crown. He says nothing for a moment before he sighs again. “I will ensure that everyone knows you need only wear your trousers and shirt. The safety of my sons is a bigger concern for everyone.”

“Thank you, your Highness.” Bowing at the waist, Castiel holds back his smile until he has excused himself from the room.

This day might be salvaged yet. There is just one more thing that Castiel has to do.

*

By the time the doctors allow him to go to his bedroom and get dressed, both his thigh and his shoulder sting with the burn of being stitched closed. The doctors were not entirely pleased that Castiel provided his own herbs to be ground into a paste and spread across the wounds after they were done, but it will dull the pain soon and speed the healing. When they check it again tomorrow to ensure that there is no infection, they will see and perhaps Castiel can teach them a thing or two about Aladaï medicine.

The King is still with the princes when Castiel returns to the room. He is sitting on a chair next to the bed beside Prince Dean, the sleeve of his tunic caught in the curl of a small fist. Both the princes are asleep and Castiel relaxes a little more. Carefully, the King slips from Prince Dean’s grasp and quietly makes his way to the door where Castiel still stands.

“I want to speak to the one you captured alive.” He whispers, leaning in close to Castiel’s side. “Stay with them until I return.”

“Of course, my Lord.” Castiel wouldn’t dream of leaving their side tonight. Waking up alone after the ordeal they just went through could be traumatic for the princes. “If our prisoner has trouble speaking, you can call on me for assistance. Aladaï are well trained in the art of loosening tongues.”

“Duly noted.” The King pats Castiel good shoulder before he slips out the door.

After making sure everything, including the windows, are properly closed and locked, Castiel decides to move the chair the King had been sitting in. He would rather sit by the door where he is not easily seen by anyone entering. It would make things much easier to surprise anyone else who might think they could hurt the princes under his watch.

No sooner has he touched the chair is there a soft sound from the bed. “Cas?”

Prince Dean looks up at him sleepily and rubs one of his eyes for a moment before both eyes go wide, filling with trepidation and fear. “I’m not gonna get up and wander tonight, I promise.”

Castiel almost winces. “I know, your Highness.” He forces a soft smile to his lips and reaches out to pull the blanket a little higher up Prince Dean’s shoulders. “Just rest. I’m staying to watch over you both for the rest of the night.” After a moment’s pause, he sits in the chair where it is. “And I – I feel the need to apologize to you.”

His freckled nose scrunches up in confusion. “What for?”

“I have been unfair to you.” Castiel looks down at his hands where they are folded in his lap. “In my anger at being here, I forgot that – prince or not – you are still a child, and it was wrong of me to be so mean to you.”

Prince Dean’s answer is lost to a yawn and he knuckles his eye again. “Okay?”

This time, the soft smile comes easier and Castiel leans back in his chair. “Go to sleep, my Lord. I’ll see you in the morning.”

*

It is surprisingly easy to be pleasant. Castiel had thought that after spending so long being bitter towards everyone and everything, that he would have more trouble smiling at both princes. But it comes to him naturally when he wakes them a little while later than he usually would. The entire castle is tired today, everyone having been up far later than normal. Even the princes are tired and Castiel has to remind himself not to snap at either of them when they drag their heels through their morning preparations.

“You must be hungry.” Castiel looks up at Prince Dean’s tired yawn as he kneels to lace his boots for him. “I had the cooks prepare your favourite breakfast today, and your lessons have been cancelled in light of last night’s events.”

Prince Sam makes a startled noise and he stands up from trying to lace his own boots. “What are we gonna do all day?”

“Whatever you want.” He shrugs only his good shoulder. “I could teach you some games the Aladaï children play, or we could take one of the ponies for a ride through the gardens. We have fine weather today. If you would like to take your midday dinner outside, I could arrange that with the cooks.”

“Why are you being so weird?” Prince Dean frowns down at him and crosses his arms over his chest.

Castiel turns to Prince Sam to fix his boots for him. “I’m being nice, my Lord. Do you remember my apology from last night?” At the blank stare he receives from both of them, Castiel sighs. “Last night, before the attack, you two were talking. And you were right. I have been unfairly cruel to you.”

He glances up at them both, a little pleased to see that they’re both surprised to hear that he had been listening. “You made the effort to be better behaved, and now I will make the effort to be nicer. That _is_ what you want, is it not?”

The princes share another surprised look before Prince Dean shrugs and nods. “Yeah, but – I didn’t think it would be so _weird_.”

“You can decide how weird it is at the end of the day.” Castiel stands and dusts off the knees of his trousers. “After you decide how you would like to spend it.”

*

For the first time since Castiel arrived, Prince Dean is smiling when he tucks him into bed that night. He catches the sleeve of Castiel’s shirt before he can draw away to put out the candles. “You’re staying here tonight too, right?”

“I am always nearby, my Lord. No one is going to get you while I’m here.” Castiel whispers, not wanting to disturb Prince Sam on the other side of the bed. “Will you stay in your bed all night?”

“I will. ‘Night Cas.”

“Good night, your Highness.”

He puts out the candles and finds his bedroll by the fire sputtering in its grate. Castiel places another log on the flames and rolls the thick blanket out. This is where he will sleep until the princes’ usual bedroom has been thoroughly cleaned and they will be able to return to it. No sooner has he laid down again does another whisper echo through the room.

“Hey, Cas?”

“Yes, Prince Dean?”

“I like it better when you’re nice.”

Castiel smiles at the shadows on the vaulted ceiling. He likes it better too. It is infinitely more comfortable to wear his own clothing and it does help to make this place feel more like home. Of course, it will never be that for him – not truly. But proving himself through the strength of his fists and making the first step toward mending his relationship with the princes is helping his disposition.

Maybe, one day, he might actually start to enjoy his new life here.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “If you continue to flick these stones at me, my Lord, I will be forced to remind you that _I throw harder than you_.” He pauses and tilts his head thoughtfully. “And I have better aim.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies for the delay. It was a busy weekend and I spent Monday night in the waiting room with my mom's boyfriend.
> 
> If you're ever wondering about why a post hasn't been made, you can [check my tag](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/tagged/to+raise+a+king) for the fic on my tumblr. Usually the first few posts on the tag will have an ETA or an explanation.

Time has never passed so quickly – or so slowly. Every day feels like it crawls by, and yet when Prince Dean’s ninth birthday is upon them, Castiel is surprised by how easily time has slipped away from him. It is only a handful of moon cycles before Prince Sam’s fifth birthday. Shortly after that, it will have been a full year that Castiel will have been in the Lowlander kingdom. In the time since, he has seen and learned many things. But nothing – not even dealing with Prince Dean and Prince Sam daily – has been more taxing on him than the events of tonight.

Lowlander royal celebrations are extravagant at best and ridiculous at worst. Half the kingdom has been invited, and even then it is only the royalty, the nobility, and the gentry. A long table to one side of the ballroom is packed with fancy boxes and bags for Prince Dean and Castiel finds the gift giving tradition absolutely _appalling_. The coveting of material possessions is still a foreign practice to him and he suspects that it always will be.

What is the point of them? They are likely toys and clothing that he already has in excess. The prince won’t even be going through the presents until tomorrow morning, and Castiel is the one who will have to stay up late tonight to inspect each one to make sure that it is nothing that can bring harm to his young Lord.

And that task will be made all the more difficult by how the party is barely even halfway finished and already Castiel is already exhausted. That is the unfortunate side effect of having to constantly be on his guard. He would like to have some very angry and very harsh words with whoever invented the tradition of large parties to celebrate important moments. This place is nothing but a breeding ground for betrayal and Castiel has yet to drop his guard since the guests had started to arrive.

There are too many people and any one of them could be an assassin or a kidnapper. He even finds it difficult to trust any of the children who are playing in the same corner of the ballroom as the princes. One of them might potentially be here to try and lead one of the princes away when Castiel’s back is turned. At any cost, Castiel watches the princes with as much focus as he can while still scanning the moving throng of people for anyone who might be here with malicious intent.

Thus far, the only upset he has seen in the party goers is the distaste they wear when they see him. Their judgmental stares are a heavy weight on his shoulders. It was a fool’s hope to think that he would not have to suffer through their prejudices towards the Aladaï after several moon cycles of peace between their people. But the hate still burns bright in most eyes and Castiel’s clothing choices do little to divert their attention.

When he first heard of the party and how he would be expected to attend for the safety of the princes, Castiel had entertained the thought of wearing the Lowlander’s fashion. Even with his dark tanned skin and short hair, he might have blended in a little easier if he was wearing their clothing. But the King had surprised him with an outfit in his usual Aladaï style dyed in colours Castiel would never wear normally and stitched with colourful threads.

“Their safety is more important than style.” The King had explained. “But you should still dress appropriately for the event.”

The concept of _formality_ in Aladaï culture is exceptionally different than the Lowlanders. An Aladaï’s formal clothing is a normal outfit, cleaned and mended. It is entirely up to the individual if they want to wear any of the traditional jewelry that is often passed down in families. Castiel has only a few trinkets left from his parents and he opted not to wear them tonight. The necklaces will only be something for an enemy to grab in the middle of a fight and the bangles he could wear on his arms and wrists would be hidden by the sleeves of his shirt.

As much as Castiel doesn’t understand the ceremonies and formalities of the Lowlanders today, there is one good thing about it; Prince Dean has spent the entire day laughing and smiling. As at odds as their relationship still is, Castiel prefers seeing him happy. A happy prince is less likely to act up for him. Where the princes are concerned, Castiel feels that he is on neutral ground with them – more often than not. They are still afraid of him, but they also show him a measure of respect that grows every time he saves them from an attempt on their lives.

Of course their relationship is still rather rocky. Though Castiel makes the effort to be _nicer_ , he is still rather strict about some things. They get along well enough despite all the times when Prince Dean gets frustrated and angry and takes it out on Castiel. He finds that he minds that less and less. Most of the time, Prince Dean is just like every other child and Castiel can see that clearly now that he is no longer clouded by his own anger.

He earned their trust during that first attack. There have been a handful of attempts on their lives since the night Ruby used Meg to distract Castiel from the princes’ side so she could unlock the balcony doors. The princes were the ones who gave her away the next day and she was caught before she could make her escape, thankfully. Castiel would not have liked to have her out in the world where she could plan anything more to harm them.

Despite that, the other assassins and kidnappers are easy to dispatch whenever they make the terrible decision to actually _try_ for the princes. Defending his young masters is a simple task now that Castiel fights in the comfort of his own clothing, feet bare and movements quick. Being able to move comfortably has really helped to keep Castiel’s moods up too – though he still misses the open plains of his homeland and the strain of daily training.

Thankfully, Castiel has managed to tweak the princes’ schedules to allow for it. The tutors had not been pleased when Castiel decided to end their lessons earlier in the afternoon. It freed up the time before supper for him to take the princes out into the training yards to watch the Knights and the soldiers practice with their swords and horses. And it also gave Castiel the chance to see and speak with the other Aladaï. Speaking in his own language again had been _extremely_ comforting.

Surprisingly, Castiel’s lessons with the princes have been going even better than their lessons with the tutors. They always sit in silence and watch him avidly while he tears apart the Lowlander fighting style and break it down into the key points that set it apart from the Aladaï. He has always had their full attention even during the times when he brings over one of the other Aladaï and sparred with them to show the princes the differences firsthand while calling out a breakdown of his own style.

Since then, by the time that Castiel brings them inside for their supper, Prince Dean and Prince Sam are bundles of energy. They always chase each up the corridors mimicking the kicks and punches of the Aladaï hand to hand combat. Castiel was just as pleased to see their interest in it then as he is now while they tell the sons and daughters of the Lords and Ladies attending the party about the times that Castiel has stopped anyone who threatened their life. They even include reenactments and it warms Castiel’s heart to see the wonder in all the young faces.

Perhaps, one day, the princes will be able to defend themselves and his servitude will no longer be necessary. Until that day, he will suffer through as many birthday parties and cold looks as he needs to, all for their safety.

*

Unless something extraordinary occurs, Castiel feels like every day is the same. The princes are woken up just after the sun has crested the horizon. Every other day, they have a proper bath before breakfast. Otherwise, Castiel encourages them to use a damp cloth to wipe themselves down to ensure cleanliness before they get dressed.

After breakfast, the princes have their lessons with a break for their midday dinner. The subjects of their lessons vary day by day so as not to overwhelm them with mathematics or politics, or any of the number of things they learn. Their lessons cover everything they will need to know to run a kingdom. It bores Castiel to the point of tears and he doesn’t envy the princes for it.

Prince Dean will be King and Sam is in line to eventually take over the position of his chief advisor. Because of that, they both need to know about foreign affairs and the politics of the countries and other kingdoms that surround the Lowlands. Castiel is very much aware of how the princes have to suffer through them all and they were _extremely_ happy when he made the decision to end them early to start training them himself. Following Castiel’s combat lessons, they have supper and play time before bed.

Yet, despite the near daily schedule, Castiel is never actually bored. Every day may feel the same, but the only part of it that is _truly_ boring is when he has to stand in the corner and watch the princes during their lessons. As boring as the lessons are, Prince Dean seems to have made it his life’s mission to keep everyone entertained.

Miraculously, Prince Dean still manages to absorb information like a sponge despite not paying attention to his tutors. Whether it is his tutor’s droning voice or the tedium of reading a tome that likely weighs as much as he does, Prince Dean is never giving his _complete_ attention. He has the tendency to attempt to sneak toys into the lessons to entertain himself, or he’ll spend the entire time staring out the window and daydreaming.

Castiel does his best to keep Prince Dean on track. Much like he is today. It requires actually sitting at the table between the princes and tapping the book in front of Prince Dean whenever his eyes stray from the pages. This always earns him a pointed glare, and Castiel does feel terrible for doing it, but he needs to keep the prince focused at least slightly.

Truthfully, Castiel would prefer taking them both outside to show them the world instead of keeping them both cooped up in this library. But this is all important information they will need for the future ahead of them. It would be detrimental to the kingdom if they had to learn it all when they take over the positions they were born for.

Prince Sam yawns further down the table from where Prince Dean is and rubs the heel of his hand into his eye. The princes have to sit at opposite ends of the library because their lessons are different. Most of what Prince Sam is learning are things Prince Dean has already learned. Currently, he is learning castle etiquette. Essentially, he is learning everything that Castiel had to memorize when he had first arrived. Some of what he is learning is new to him, but most of it are rules that Prince Sam has been exempt from thus far because of his age.

Sighing, Castiel taps the book again when he notices that Prince Dean has spent too long looking out the window. At least today he has yet to make the attempt to try and skip his lessons. Castiel almost wishes that he would. His attempts are always entertaining and it would relieve them both of their current boredom. But after being together for so long – nearly a full year now – it’s surprising that Prince Dean even still tries. He has never managed to escape Castiel for long.

Castiel is in his nineteenth year. He is practically in his prime and he has very little problem with chasing Prince Dean down whenever he manages to slip away either on the route to their lessons, or whenever Castiel steps out of the room to use the latrine. It’s always trying on his nerves when he leaves them under the watch of someone else. Since Ruby’s betrayal, Castiel is wary of letting anyone else oversee the princes while he does other things. He has taken to having other servants carry out the things he _would_ do if he could bring himself to trust any of them.

A knock at one of the doors to the library draws everyone’s attention – even those of the knights spaced between the massive shelves full of books. It creaks open and another servant pokes her head through the opening. Castiel recognizes her immediately as the replacement hired for Ruby. She glances around the library before her gaze lands pointedly on Castiel.

“Can I help you, Miss Mills?”

“I have a message for you from the King.”

He gives Prince Dean a stern look, hoping to communicate that he actually continue to pay attention, before he joins her in the corridor. “What message do you have?”

“The King would like you to know that he is inviting the princes to have supper with him this evening.” Miss Mills explains as she smoothes her hands over the apron covering her dress. “He is not expecting their menu to match his, but he asks that they eat at the same time as him at his table.”

“Of course.” Castiel nods and makes the mental note to remember the change in time. “Could you please notify the kitchen to let them know when they should prepare the princes’ meals? I need to remain with them.”

She smiles softly and nods. “I’ll give them the message.” Miss Mills dips her head and turns away.

Castiel takes two steps into the library and his stomach plummets. Prince Dean is gone from his place at the table while the tutor’s back is to it. He sighs and shoves the empty chair back against the table. “Where did he go?”

The tutor turns around in surprise and his frown deepens. “I wasn’t aware that he left.”

Cursing under his breath, Castiel glances at Prince Sam. His eyes are focused on his own book intently and he is quite obviously not looking at him. So, he noticed then. But Castiel has yet to ever succeed with getting Prince Sam to give away anything about his brother’s plans. If he could have slipped away too, Prince Sam would have gone with him. But he is much slower and noisier when it comes to escaping their lessons.

One glance at the Knights tells Castiel that even _their_ attention was lax enough for Prince Dean to slip away. They stand half asleep at their posts, little more than decoration than actual _guards_. Even living a whole year here has done nothing to change Castiel’s opinion on the uselessness of the King’s army. How they ever managed to be at _war_ with the Aladaï for as long as they did is beyond his understanding.

This is not the first time and nor will it be the last that Prince Dean has managed to escape his lessons. Castiel is almost grateful for it, as it gives them both a break from the tedium of the tutors. And yet, he still finds himself annoyed. Has the prince really not learned that there is nowhere in the castle or on its grounds where he will be able to escape him?

There are only a few ways out of the library; the main doors on opposite sides of the room from each other, and the servants’ entrance tucked away behind a few bookcases. Since Castiel had been standing at one door, and the other was clear on the other side of the library from where Prince Dean had been sitting, he concludes that his wayward master likely slipped out through the servants’ entrance. Someone would have seen or heard him if he had tried to use the doors.

Castiel follows the tight passageways that twist and turn around the rooms, taking what he believes to be the path the prince followed. When he comes upon Meg, carefully balancing a basket full of dirty linens, she rolls her eyes and gestures over her shoulder in the direction she came from. There is no need for words to be exchanged and he dips his head in silent appreciation for her assistance. He _is_ on the right path and now it is just a matter of continuing to pick the same directions and actually catching up with the prince.

Prince Dean has a few hiding spots throughout the castle grounds that he almost always goes to whenever he runs off. After Castiel loses him in the passage ways, he turns to checking those. The first place to check is the kitchen. For such a small boy, Prince Dean’s appetite is voracious. Whenever he manages to sneak away, he often times makes at least one stop in the kitchen to pilfer the pantry. Today, Castiel is not so lucky.

No one in the kitchen has seen the prince and Castiel turns to the next spot to check. It is entirely possible that Prince Dean _did_ visit the kitchen and managed to remain unseen. If he had, he usually takes his stolen goods to the garden where he’ll eat it in the safety of his favourite tree before he takes a nap in the dappled sunlight through the branches.

Yet again, luck is not in Castiel’s favour. None of the gardeners or haywards have seen the prince and Castiel jogs through the entire garden nonetheless, checking every tree. There is no hide nor hair of Prince Dean and that leaves the next spot on his list; the stables. Prince Dean has a fondness for the horses and even though he has been warned not to enter the stalls on his own due to the possibility of trampling, he disregards that warning much like he does all the others.

Finally, Castiel’s luck wins out. Prince Dean is standing on a stool in the stall of his favourite horse; a pure black mare with a streak of white running from her forehead to the end of her muzzle. He claims that when he is big enough to ride alone, he will take her as his own. The King has told him multiple times that the future King should ride a strong stallion instead. But if the mare is the horse the prince chooses, Castiel will say nothing against it.

The mare snorts loudly and tosses her head as Dean carefully runs a brush over her back. He hasn’t noticed Castiel yet and that plays to his advantage. It is an easy task to slip into the stall next to the one the prince is in, calming the horse there with a gentle touch. Silently, Castiel climbs over the wall between the stalls to stand directly behind the stool. With one fluid motion, he plucks Prince Dean from it and ducks out of the stall before his surprised shout upsets the mare, shutting the gate behind him quickly. She neighs loudly as Castiel strides off with the prince over his shoulder.

“Ca-a-a-a-s!” Prince Dean whines, kicking his legs and beating his arms against his back. “Don’t make me go back! Please? It’s so _boring_.”

Castiel ignores him and the curious stares of everyone they pass on the grounds as he heads back toward the castle. Lessons are lessons and the future King _needs_ to attend them. This is not something he can be lenient about – no matter how much he would like to be.

“Please, Cas? Just this once?” The prince begs, tugging at the back of Castiel’s shirt and pulling it out from where it is tucked into his trousers. “Let me and Sammy go this one time? We’d rather be riding than spend another day in that library. Please?”

“I cannot do that, my Lord.” He shakes his head and carries the prince back into the main hall. “These are important for your future. But –” This is not something he should be doing. “But, if you sit through the rest of your lessons properly and _pay attention_ … If you do that, then we can go riding instead of _my_ lessons before supper.”

All struggling ceases and the prince falls suspiciously quiet. When he still has yet to say anything by the time Castiel reaches to the top of the main stairs, he stops. “What is it?”

Prince Dean’s voice is quiet, his words careful and calculating. “That sounds an awful lot like a _reward_ instead of a punishment for escaping my lessons.”

“Consider it bribery.” Castiel crouches and slides the prince forward on his shoulder, lowering him to the ground slowly. Once Prince Dean is standing again, Castiel takes him by the wrist and all but pulls him down the hall towards the library. “The punishment is what you will have to eat for supper.”

Another whine echoes down the corridor. “Aw, Cas, don’t do that! What is it?”

“Something green.”

It was going to be a part of his meal anyway, but Castiel had no plans on _making_ the princes eat it. He would have held his ground and told them to eat as much as they could before he would let them go. Now he plans on refusing to let them leave the table entirely until their plates are completely cleared. It may not be entirely fair to Prince Sam since he didn’t actually leave the library, but neither did he stop his brother or point out what he was doing. Sometimes, silence is just as bad as the actual offense.

Prince Dean groans again and slumps along beside him. “I hate you.”

Castiel sighs and closes his eyes briefly. “We are all _well_ aware of that.” Though he knows the prince doesn’t quite _hate_ him. Nor does he strongly dislike him. Their relationship wavers between neutral and dislike, but it has not been outright _hatred_ for many moons.

When the whining stops, Prince Dean tugs at his arm lightly. “How do you keep finding me? It’s almost like you’re part hunting hound.”

“On the contrary, you are just very predictable, your Highness.” He spares a smug smile at him before taking the corner that will lead to the library. “And I would not have to be part of anything if you would just do as you’re supposed to. Prince Sam is practically half your age and _he_ can pay attention in his lessons. Why can’t you?”

“Because Sammy has a head for all these lessons.” A frown creases the prince’s young face and he turns his eyes to the floor. “I like learning, but I like it the way you do it. You don’t just talk about things to us, you _show it_ and let us do it too.” He shrugs and glances back up at Castiel. “In my lessons, all I’m supposed to do is read and listen to people talk and even _you_ know how boring that is.”

There is truth in his words. Castiel’s boredom during the lessons stems from both the topics and that he is not the intended recipient. As bad as he feels for the princes, what is there for him to do about it? How can he make things more _interesting_ for them both? It is something he will have to think on.

“I will try speaking with the tutors.” He drops his voice into a whisper when they reach the doors of the library. “Perhaps we’ll be able to figure something out.”

Prince Dean looks up at him in surprise, his eyes wide. “Really?”

“Yes, really.”

A slow smile spreads across the prince’s lips. It’s genuine and grateful and everything that Castiel fights so hard to get from him every day. “Thanks, Cas.”

*

Leaving the castle grounds to accompany the princes anywhere is always taxing on Castiel’s nerves. To him, there are enemies around every corner and on every rooftop. He has to be constantly on edge for an attack that can come from any direction and from any person. It’s exhausting, but necessary. It would be too unfair to deny the princes a ride through the city and surrounding towns they will one day rule.

Truthfully speaking, there have been no attacks on the princes for quite a few moons. Not since shortly after Prince Dean’s tenth birthday. Castiel actually prides himself on it. He has heard from the other Aladaï that there is word among the soldiers about him – word that comes from the darkest streets and the scum (a word he now knows) who inhabit it. They speak of how everyone is refusing any jobs that would require them to infiltrate the castle for fear of having to deal with – and the name always makes Castiel chuckle – with the _Demon Guardian_.

Castiel has a reputation in the kingdom now. Anyone who has tried to make an attempt on the princes’ lives, either by killing them or kidnapping them, never leaves the castle alive. The mercenaries, the assassins, even the thieves, are too afraid of him to even _want_ to make the attempt. In just a few years, this is the reputation Castiel has made and he’s rather proud of himself for it. And yet, Castiel still can’t bring himself to remotely relax during the ride from the castle to the grounds of Baron Braeden’s lands.

It isn’t exactly comfortable to have _both_ the princes sitting on the saddle in front of him, but Castiel would rather keep them close than trust anyone else to protect them. It requires that he sit _behind_ the saddle for them both to be comfortable.

“Cas?” Prince Sam twists around to look back at him over his brother’s shoulder. “Where are we going?”

“We’re going to see Lisa.” Prince Dean answers. “And we’re going to have a _picnic_ , Sammy. Lisa has a garden almost as pretty as ours.”

Between themselves, the princes discuss all the things they want to do when they reach the Baron’s keep. Castiel listens with half an ear, making a list of the things he approves of and dismissing the ones that they absolutely will not be allowed to do. If the supplies are readily available to them, he would happily take the young Lady Lisa fishing with the princes down at the river that cuts through the Baron’s lands. Or he could take them all on a trek through the grounds on the back of some ponies.

But he refuses to allow the princes – or Lady Lisa – to climb the tallest trees. Despite now being ten years of age, Prince Dean is still rather short. He has yet to sprout like Castiel had around that age and until he does, he has to be denied certain activities that are better fit for children of a larger size. It’s a fact that Prince Dean despises and fights against at every opportunity, but Castiel has two years of experience of dealing with him under his belt. Handling the princes comes almost second nature to him now, as does handling the friends that they have.

Lady Lisa was one of the first children of the members of the King’s court that Castiel met when he arrived. And she was one of the few who were not afraid of him. She had been intrigued by his clothing and his culture and Castiel has found himself to be rather fond of her too as the years passed. Lady Lisa is a sweet child with a boisterous attitude equal or greater to his young Lords. When she is in their company, he protects her with the same fervor as he does the princes.

In fact, it is entirely her doing as for why Castiel is taking the princes to her father’s lands today. She wants to make use of that last of the warm season by taking a picnic on the grounds that the King granted to her father. The leaves of the forests around her home have turned a stunning red and orange and Castiel finds it breathtaking. It tugs at the strings of his heart as it reminds him of the forests that line the plains of the tribe lands.

“Cas, go faster!” Prince Dean leans back to knock his head against Castiel’s chest. “We want to get there before the day is over.”

He says nothing in response and it’s only a moment before the prince sighs. “ _Please_ , Cas?”

Sometimes Prince Dean forgets that politeness is the key, but he’s always quick to correct himself as soon as he notices. In two years he has come quite a ways and Castiel is proud of him for it. The middle ground that they’ve found is an easy give and take. Despite being on edge during their trip between the castle and Baron Braeden’s lands, Castiel has found a measure of peace after all this time.

Castiel hunches forward, holding the reins a little tighter. “Hold on.”

Prince Dean wraps his arms around his brother and Castiel waits until they’ve braced themselves before he urges the horse into a gallop. The princes’ laughter is all he can hear over the rush of the wind in his ears and the steady pound of the horse’s hooves on the dirt path. It warms him to hear it as Prince Sam calls for him to go faster and they hunch forward over the horse’s neck together, going so fast Castiel could almost imagine that they were flying.

The forest ends too soon for their liking and he has to draw the horse up short, cantering to a stop in front of the gates to the keep. A set of guards let them through easily enough and Castiel steers the horse towards the stables. Lady Lisa is already waiting, sitting in the saddle in front of one of her own servants. Another is waiting beside her on a horse of their own with baskets looped over the back of their mount behind them.

Castiel nudges Prince Dean’s shoulder with his elbow, gently enough not to jostle him too much, but hard enough to get his point across. Prince Dean sighs just loud enough for his riding companions to hear him before he lifts a hand in a wave – his brother copying him automatically. “Hi, Lisa.”

Good enough – although the crown prince should have a better grasp of the finer aspects of formality. Castiel finds it both amusing and intriguing to see how the children of the court have yet to start catering to the strict rules that come with the roles they will be inheriting when they come of age. He can only hope that by then the princes will have accepted that this is what they must do – even if Castiel himself does not understand why so many formalities are necessary. In all honesty, he prefers the informal interaction between the children.

Unfortunately, Castiel has not been a child for a very long time and his status is far below that of the three children in his presence. He bows his head – the best that he can do in his current position. “I hope we haven’t kept you waiting, my Lady. You look lovely today.”

Lady Lisa’s laugh echoes through the courtyard and she waves back in a manner that most would find unbefitting of a young lady such as herself. “You have perfect timing! I hope you’re as hungry as I am.”

She leads the way around the keep to the expansive grounds behind it. Castiel disapproves of how the Baron has walled off what he considers his _private_ land. It is foolish and selfish and denies the people who live under his barony access to a beautiful forest. He keeps his thoughts to himself as he guides the horse to walk next to Lady Lisa. As soon as they fall into place beside her, the children erupt into a rapid discussion about _fairy tales_ of all things.

This is still a relatively new concept for Castiel. He had not heard of them until recently when Lady Lisa had procured a large tome of them from her family’s library during the princes’ last visit. The Aladaï have stories much the same as the Lowlanders, but theirs are not considered _fictional_. Even if no one in the tribe has seen the giants in the mountains, they still believe in them. The Lowlanders' say that the stories could be possible, but they are largely considered to be untrue.

He interrupts their conversation as he tugs lightly at the reins, slowly their horse. “What do you think of this clearing for lunch?”

It really is the prettiest place that they have come across so far. There are a number of wildflowers scattered throughout the area and the trees are beautiful with their autumn foliage. This time of the year is Castiel's favourite and he would enjoy it more if he could let his guard drop even a little while he watches over the princes and Lady Lisa as her attendants spread out a blanket and start unpacking the food. To his surprise, they set out enough for him as well before the pair of them retreat to the other side of the clearing to set themselves up out of the way where they can be called at a moment's notice.

As the princes' protector, he is required to stay at their side when they are outside of the castle. But he had not expected Lady Lisa to provide a meal for him as well. Castiel has a meager lunch of bread in one of his own saddlebags. It's enough to fill his stomach while he is distracted with their safety.

“Cas, come sit with us.” Prince Dean calls to him after he has made sure that their horse is tied securely to a log. “Forget the things you brought and come try the food! We're hungry.” As an afterthought, he adds a; “Please?”

Smiling to himself, Castiel joins them at the blanket and sits cross-legged in the empty space between the princes. Though he has yet to consider himself as Prince Dean's _friend_ , Castiel feels like they have come quite the ways from where they started. The ground between them is stable as Prince Dean has grown quite a bit. He is still a child, but his attitude has improved immensely.

Especially after an actual _fight_ they had.

Castiel thinks about that fight while he tries a little of the food from each of the princes' covered plates. It was only a few moons ago and Prince Dean was being _extremely_ difficult about going to bed. He had been having nightmares after an attempt to kill the King – a poison that had cost them the life of the King's food taster. It had led to sleepless nights and Prince Dean had been exceptionally irritable during that time. It was his own folly to give Castiel the permission to speak his mind when any attempt to get the prince to lie down and _sleep_ led to a verbal fight.

He doesn't remember the exact words exchanged, but it had dredged up their short – though tumultuous – relationship. Every grievance he was ever forced to tell the King was spilled that night to Prince Dean and Castiel had been ashamed of himself afterward. Both the princes were staring at him afterwards, shocked into silence. The only comment that Prince Dean had on the entire thing was a quiet ' _interesting_ '.

That night, he made Castiel swear to _always_ speak his mind to him. Thus far, that has only seemed to _improve_ their relationship. Prince Dean almost seems to enjoy being called out for being an insufferable brat when his attitude takes a turn for the worse. Castiel thinks that the prince likes it because no one else does it. The servants, the knights, and the rest of the King's court know that he is a child but they see his title before they see _him_. He is treated only ever as the _crown prince_ and rarely ever as a _person_.

Castiel does his best to give that to him now. They trade sarcastic comments and Prince Dean has a plethora of jokes – most of which Castiel doesn't understand – that he likes to share. His primary source of glee is found in Castiel's lack of comprehension. But despite all that, Castiel still does not think that they are truly friends.

Then again, Castiel has trouble remembering what it means to have an actual friend. With having to keep his attention constantly focused on the princes, Castiel never has time to spend with anyone else. There are chores to do, the princes to watch, and his own personal time when he's too exhausted to even _think_ about dealing with other people. He barely has the time to see or speak with Ash or any of the other servants.

And yet, Castiel does not feel lonely. Not like he did when he first arrived.

“It's delicious.” He smiles at Lady Lisa as he hands the princes back their plates. “You must give my compliments to your cooks.”

She smiles brightly and spreads her skirts out around her while she gets comfortable too. “This is my favourite. I hope you like it too.” Her pointed stare is focused on the princes while they try the spiced potatoes and meat filling their plates.

Castiel carefully removes the cover of his own bowl and eats that while watching the area around them. His mind never quite wanders and he is fully aware of when Prince Dean starts being the brat he can still be – and often is. Sighing, Castiel plucks a stone from his knee without looking and flicks it off the blanket. His gaze is still flicking from tree to tree, scanning the forest around them. It doesn't matter to him if there are walls protecting this land. There are walls protecting the castle to and more than once he has had to deal with those who specialize in getting over and under and around all variety of walls.

Prince Dean, long finished with his midday dinner, finds another stone and carefully tosses it at Castiel. It gets lost in the folds of his trousers, but the second lands on his knee again. Castiel picks it up once more, but does not throw it away this time. Instead, he bounces it in his palm and drops his gaze to the prince next to him.

“If you continue to flick these stones at me, my Lord, I will be forced to remind you that _I throw harder than you_.” He pauses and tilts his head thoughtfully. “And I have better aim.”

Lady Lisa breaks down into giggles, a cloth napkin in her hand as she cleans her face of any food. Prince Sam muffles a laugh behind his messy hands, sticky with the sauce from the meat. Castiel takes his own napkin and soaks it in water from the skin he had brought from the castle. He passes it to the prince without any instructions being needed and Prince Sam meticulously cleans both his hands and his face with it before Castiel rinses it clean.

Prince Dean smiles widely, pleased with himself for making everyone laugh. Castiel can't help returning the smile as he hands him the damp napkin to clean himself too. With their meals finished, Lady Lisa calls her attendants to come and clear the dishes and remainder of the food away.

“I want to explore the forest.” Prince Sam tugs excitedly at Castiel's sleeve. “Can we, Cas? Please?”

“We just finished eating.” Lady Lisa tuts, shaking her head and her finger at him. Her dark curls bounce against her shoulders as she stands. “We can explore after. Right, Cas?”

He has no idea what ' _after_ ' she is referring to. “After what, my Lady?”

Her answer is to hike up her skirts with both hands and run across the clearing to where her attendants are packing everything into the baskets on the horses. They have no plans to leave yet, but it's better to do it now then have the children waiting around for them to do it when it's time to leave. Castiel's heart sinks when she runs back with the foreign yet familiar book of fairy tales.

With her cheeks red from the run and no further explanation, Lady Lisa drops the book into Castiel's lap and sits direction in front of him. Her wide eyes are expectant and Castiel can feel a flush of embarrassment creep up the back of his neck. He doesn't know how to read Lowlander text. If he ever had the time for it, he might try to learn it. But until the princes are older and able to act like adults in their own regard, he can't afford free time of his own.

Before Castiel can say anything about it, Prince Dean pulls the book from his lap and sets it aside. “That's full of old stories. I want to hear _new_ ones.” He looks up at Castiel with an expectant grin of his own and a knowing look in his eyes. “Tell us a different story, Cas.”

That is no better. Castiel has never been a good story teller. “Like what?”

“Anything!” Prince Sam takes the book's place, settling himself in Castiel's lap. It forces him to look at him upside down, but at least it's not uncomfortable for either of them. “Do Aladaï have stories?”

“Of course we do.” He's just terrible at telling them.

Prince Dean makes a face at his brother as he moves to sit next to Lady Lisa. “Then tell us one of those, Cas. Tell us something about – I don’t know. Where did the Aladaï come from?”

Castiel tilts his head back and looks at the sky, thinking about the histories, the myths, and the legends he has rattling through his mind. He pays no attention to Prince Sam as he takes Castiel’s hands and pulls them forward and around himself, splaying them palm up in his own lap to trace the calluses, lines, and pale scars with his fingertip. Of all the stories that he knows, there are a few that are his favourites. From those, Castiel selects one he hopes the children will enjoy.

*

The story starts a long time ago, long before the land looks as it does now – even long before the animals walked between the trees. There were no birds or beasts or wind or sounds. The world was silent, but it was not empty. On it lived the trees, rooted in their soil and immobile with no voices of their own without a wind to help them. Even so, their roots wove together in the earth, spreading across the world under mountain and sea, and the trees were one; the _Alaï_.

Eventually, the Alaï grew tired of being alone in a world of silence. It gathered its energies from across the world and centered it all on one tree. It was the Alaï’s biggest tree; the mother tree. With the energies of every plant that breathes the air, the mother tree bore two flowers with petals in all the colours imaginable. There never was and never would be flowers as beautiful as those.

But they were not to last.

The petals withered and fell away as their stems swelled into fruit, growing and growing until the branches that bore them bowed under their weight, drooping to the very ground itself. Finally, as the fruit fell away, fully ripened, their hard skins peeled back. There, between the roots of the mother tree, the first Aladaï – children of the Alaï – were born.

Their skin was dark like the bark of the mother tree; their hair thick and ropey, twisting like vines from their heads and hanging down to cover their bodies. The Aladaï siblings bore no gender – neither man, nor woman. The first breath they took was the wind and it gave voice to the Alaï, its leaves shivering and branches clattering. And the Alaï named its children; Aïnkin and Kuïn. The sun and the moon. For when they opened their eyes, Aïnkin bore the sun in theirs and Kuïn held the moon.

Together, the Aladaï twins walked the world. Kuïn’s weak eyes could not take the brightness of their sibling’s gaze and they walked with their eyes closed. Aïnkin, not wanting their twin to miss the world, lead them for a while and would close their eyes to allow Kuïn to open theirs for a time. Side by side and hand in hand, they explored the world until, eventually, they returned to the mother tree.

Though they were never alone because they had each other and were always surrounded with the voice of the Alaï, the siblings were lonely. With the energies of the Alaï coursing through the mother tree, the twins knelt in the dirt between the roots where they were born. They cut their fingers with sharp stones and mixed their blood with the earth, adding their tears to turn it to mud. With it, they sculpted all manner of bird and beast, placing the figures they made into notches that they carved into the mother tree’s roots.

For every figure they placed, a new flower bloomed on its branches and a new fruit sagged to the earth. Aïnkin and Kuïn worked tirelessly, guiding their twin when it was the other’s turn to close their eyes. Together they crafted every creature they could imagine. With so many being born day in and day out, the energies of the Alaï was spread sparsely between them. So weak was the powers of the Alaï in every new creature that they could not hear its voice and few bore the likeness of the trees.

The humans were the last the Aladaï siblings sculpted together. Aïnkin made the fair skinned races, crafting them to bear the pale colour of their twin’s eyes. Kuïn could not give any creature skin to match the radiance of their twin’s eyes, and instead continued their line; molding from the last of the dirt between mother tree’s roots the Aladaï as they are known today. The Alaï’s energies were waning then, and the Aladaï race that stepped from the fruit only bore a slight resemblance to the twins. But they were satisfied and proud of all they had accomplished together.

And for the first time in their long lives, the twins were tired. But the world was now too noisy, filled with the voices and hearts of countless creatures. Together, the twins climbed the mother tree. They climbed it to the very top most branches where they brushed the sky. Hand in hand, the siblings leapt into the empty silence of the heavens. With so much space to fill, the twins broke themselves apart, scattering their bodies into infinite pieces that sparkled with the light of the Alaï’s energy. And in the sky, they slept.

*

Silence follows for long moments after Castiel ends his story. It’s broken by a soft snickering from the other side of the clearing. Lady Lisa’s attendants are laughing at him – at his story. An age old anger rekindles in his chest, but he does his best to ignore it. He told the story not for them, but for the children sitting before him.

At some point during the story, Prince Sam slipped from Castiel’s lap to sit next to Lady Lisa. All three of them never interrupted and they all look awestruck. Even Prince Dean’s mouth is hanging open, his eyes just as wide. None of them say a word long enough that Castiel begins to worry that something is wrong. But Lady Lisa breaks the spell of silence with a deep breath and a quiet whisper.

“Aïnkin and Kuïn became the stars.”

Castiel nods, a smile lifting in the corners of his mouth. The coals of anger in his chest at the other servants is smothered with the wonder in Lady Lisa’s eyes as he nods. “Yes, my Lady, you’re right. They live on in the heavens as the sun, the moon, and the stars.”

Prince Sam speaks next, shifting onto his knees and leaning forward on his hands. He grabs one of Castiel’s fingers and lifts his hand into the sunlight to hold it up against the backdrop of trees. “But if the Aladaï have skin the colour of trees, why aren’t you brown too?”

“Because long before I was born, the ancestors of my tribe had children with the pale skinned ones – possibly the ancestors of you Lowlanders.” Carefully, he extracts his hand from Prince Sam’s and leans over to pull back one corner of the blanket.

With his finger, he draws out a rough map of the tribe lands in the dirt. “The Aladaï used to live everywhere before we settled into our own lands when your people laid claim to the lowlands. Where I come from, there are still many tribes that have skin much darker than my own.”

He draws circles all over his crude map to represent the different tribes and gestures at one side. “Specifically, the tribe’s skin gets darker the farther they lived from the Lowlands. Do you understand?”

They all nod, but Prince Dean’s eyebrows pinch together into a frown. “But, Cas, you’re saying that everything came from _trees_. That’s not what the people in the Church say.”

Ah, yes. The _Church._ Castiel has many things to say about the Church and none of them are good. The people who run the Church are zealous in their religion. Though the Aladaï are accepting of all beliefs, the Church make it _very_ difficult for Castiel to be as gracias to them as he would others. They came to the Lowlands from across the seas well before Castiel ever came to live here and their Churches have been built all over the land, one in almost every other town.

The only issues that Castiel truly takes with them is all due to their _rules_ from their holy book. They claim the rules were laid down by their one true God and the book dictates the way people live – and even how they are supposed to _love_. Castiel _despises_ it. It's very difficult for him to accept the preaching of their holy book when it clashes with almost every Aladaï belief and the majority of the society he was raised in.

But still, he must answer Prince Dean's curiosity. “Everyone has their own beliefs, your Highness. All cultures have their own legends and myths to go with their own histories. Some believe that our world is actually carried in the cradle of the horns of a giant Moose God. Others believe in an entire pantheon of Gods instead of in just one.” Castiel shrugs and flips the blanket back down over the dirt. “You see, my Lords, even if you don’t believe in the same God – or Gods – as someone else, you should still be accepting of their religion. It –”

Lady Lisa and Prince Sam start speaking at the same time, both of them interrupting him. They stop and start in sync thrice more before Castiel has to hold up his hand to silence them. “Your Highness, you should allow a Lady to go first.”

“Do you have to keep talking like that?” She bursts out before Prince Sam can say anything more. “My Lord, my Lady, your Highness – do you have to keep doing that when it’s only us? It's annoying. My attendants only have to refer to me by name when we’re alone.” Lady Lisa glances at Prince Dean to her right. “You don’t even make _me_ call you by your title.”

Castiel agrees that it _is_ annoying, but it’s become habit. He’s even forced himself to include their titles in his thoughts when he thinks of them. “It’s what is proper, my Lady. And Prince Dean allows it because you are his friend.”

She frowns again, her eyes narrowing at Prince Dean. “Does that mean that Cas isn’t your friend? You spend every day with him. He would give his _life_ for you. He –”

“Lady Lisa, please.” He interrupts her quickly, before she makes herself or the prince upset. A dark frown is already starting to fill Prince Dean’s face and Castiel is worried that the good mood following the story is now ruined. “What his Highness thinks of me doesn’t matter. There are formalities that must be followed and it’s not proper for me to call him by anything but his title.”

“Forget proper then.” Prince Dean stands up sharply and stretches his arms above his head. He places his hands on his hips and looks down at Castiel, his young face stern with all the command his position afford him. “You have my permission to call us by our names when it’s just us.” After a moment, he adds; “Even when we’re back at the castle, you only have to use our titles when there are other people around, okay?”

Something warm slips through Castiel’s chest and he dips his head, staring at his hands. A name is personal and intimate. To be allowed to refer to the princes by their names without their titles feels like it’s a step closer to the friendly ground he strives for between them. Castiel knows they will never be considered _equals_ , but he would one day like to be considered their _friend_.

He looks up at their expectant faces and nods. “As you wish –” Hesitation trips up his tongue for just a second. “– Dean.”

A wide, bright smile stretches across the prince’s face and he looks down at Lisa, practically glowing with pride. Castiel can’t help a small smile of his own and he turns to his other prince. “You were going to say something, Sam?”

For a moment, Sam looks confused – as if he had forgotten his question. But his eyes clear quickly and he sits up a little straighter. “If we’re allowed to believe in any God or Gods that we want, can we believe in other things too?”

“Such as?”

Lisa leans forward excitedly, cutting Sam off again. “If I wanted to believe that there are monsters and magic and witches and wizards in the world, I can?”

“Of course.” Castiel nods. There are some things that the shamans of his tribe can do that he would consider magic.

“What about fairies?” Sam jumps to his feet, excitement making his small frame tremble. “Can I believe in fairies and unicorns and mermaids and –”

Their enthusiasm is contagious and Castiel’s smile grows. “You can believe in anything you want to believe in, Sam. That’s the power of belief.” He looks to Dean, who has yet to ask anything further. “Is there anything that you want to believe in, Dean?”

A thoughtful light enters the prince’s eyes. For a while, he stares off into the forest, apparently lost in his thoughts while Sam and Lisa get caught up in a heated discussion about where fairies might live. Castiel has the sneaking suspicion that the rest of their time here is going to be spent scouting through the forest under toadstools and in the hollows of trees.

Finally, Dean drops his eyes. First he looks to Lisa, a smile lifting his lips. Then he lingers on Sam, his warm smile growing even wider. And, eventually, he turns to Castiel. His smile is bright like sunlight and there is nothing but kindness in his eyes – where once he used to look at Castiel with fear.

“I don’t need to believe in creatures I’ve never seen. Everything I want to believe in is right here.”

In that moment, Castiel is struck with the realization that Dean – his crown prince – believes in _him._ And he might very well view Castiel as a friend already. It forces Castiel’s own smile to grow as wide as possible and it feels like a sun is rising behind his ribs. Happiness. This is what it feels like to be truly _happy_ again and it pulls an honest laugh out of him. The laugh seems to catch everyone by surprise and Castiel is sure they have never heard him do it before. It only makes him laugh more.

When Castiel glances at his prince again, he has never seen him look so delighted. His smile grows softer though it doesn’t shrink. “Those are very good things to believe in, Dean.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [The Moose God](http://pappcave.tumblr.com/tagged/the-moose-god%21au) is actually an SPN AU that my best friend and sometimes co-author, [Pappcave](http://pappcave.tumblr.com), has created that I helped him plan out a little. It's still in its planning stages, but _damn_ it's gonna be good!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Absently, Castiel rests his hand on the top of Sam’s head as he regards the King. “Please, my Lord, let me try and reason with him.”

“Come _on_ , Cas.” Dean insists, pulling Castiel’s hand harder as he drags him toward the library.

He can’t fathom a reason why Dean would want to go the library on the rare day that the princes don’t have lessons. Even Sam seems excited, scampering ahead of them both and constantly glancing back to make sure that they still follow him. Castiel has yet to question what the princes are up to and he has no plans to do so. He’s been with them for three long years now and that is _plenty_ of time to have learned that the princes will not give him a straightforward answer no matter how many times he asks.

At this point, all Castiel can do is brace himself for the unknown.

A small part of him feels that what the princes are planning might be punishment of some form. Though _what_ they would be punishing him for remains to be seen. They have been rather vocal for the slight change in Castiel’s behavior as of late. In light of how no attempts have been made to infiltrate the castle, or kidnap or kill the princes for quite some time (more than half a year, if Castiel’s estimations are correct) – he has been making slight changes to his personal schedule.

With their safety almost completely secured, Castiel has taken to leaving the princes in the care of other people during the day. He still finds it a little difficult to leave the princes alone with anyone else – be it their tutors, a few soldiers and knights, or even the King himself – but he has been making due. It does feel rather nice not to have to rely anymore on someone else to carry out tasks that he could do himself. Doing something menial like cleaning the princes’ room or running errands for their tutors make him feel useful in ways he never could by simply watching them throughout their lessons or their play time.

Actually, the only time Castiel is not an active part in their activities, it’s during their lessons. He can’t remember the last time when he wasn’t included in the games they play after their supper. Whenever they play, Sam will insist that Castiel needs to join them and Dean will invent an outlandish reason for _why_ he is needed for the game. Or when the princes sit down to read, Dean always invites Castiel to sit with them to listen to the stories too.

Ah, yes, _reading_. Since their apparent destination is the library, perhaps that is what they are planning to do. It makes the most logical sense considering the sheer number of books and scrolls kept there. Castiel still can’t read or write, but Dean has taken to pointing out words when he’s the one reading. After a while, he learned to recognize some of the words. There is a list in his head of all the words he can recognize simply by their shape, but the majority of the Lowlander’s written language is still completely foreign to him.

Despite that, Castiel is still surprised to find one of the princes’ tutors waiting in the library when Dean and Sam drag him through the doors. The table is set neatly with a pile of papers next to a fresh quill and ink pot. Sam pulls the chair in front of the papers out as Dean leads Castiel to it. A realization quickly forms and he plants his feet, bringing Dean to a jerking stop.

“Don’t be like that, Cas.” Dean grins up at him and gestures at the table and the tutor. “This is for you!”

“I can see that.” He looks down at the princes and the expectant look on their faces. “ _Why_ is it for me? I have other things I need to be doing right now.”

Sam adopts a pout, his bottom lip sticking out slightly as he looks up at Castiel with wide, pleading eyes. “There are other servants who can do that for you. We asked Father and he agreed that it’s time for you to learn to read and write.”

“I’ve managed three years in this kingdom without needing it, your Highness.” Castiel sighs, allowing Dean to pull him the rest of the way to the chair and push him into it. “Why must I start _now_?”

As interested as he is in learning it, Castiel would have liked to know that this was happening so he could arrange his schedule appropriately. Now someone else is going to need to be summoned to remove the ashes from the grate in the princes’ room and air the blankets. It’s unfair to the other servants and Castiel has been doing his best to maintain a _good_ relationship with them.

“You’re starting now because I want you to be able to read to us.” Dean explains, trying to help Sam push the chair back to the table with him in it.

Humouring them, Castiel shuffles it closer. “But _why_? You’ve made it a point to have me tell you Aladaï stories that can’t be found in any book. Why would you want me to read you other things too?”

“I like your voice, Cas.” Dean shrugs and helps Sam into one of the chairs next to him.

It’s a nice compliment and Castiel ducks his head modestly, but he still doesn’t quite understand. “But why do I have to read when you can easily do it yourself?” He’s always been an advocate for teaching the princes to be self-reliant. If this is truly Dean’s only reason for Castiel to learn to read, then he finds it utterly pointless.

Sam’s grin grows when Dean sighs and turns to him, his hands on his hips. “Because I’m the crown prince and I say so.”

Castiel frowns and glances at the tutor. His back is to him and he seems utterly absorbed in writing out symbols on a strip of paper pinned to a standing board. Satisfied that the tutor’s attention is elsewhere, Castiel leans closer to the princes and drops his voice into a quiet whisper. “You’re being a brat, _Dean_.”

He snorts a laugh and settles in another chair. “No, I’m not. I’m being practical and looking ahead like you taught me to. I’m making plans for the _future_.”

A giggle escapes Sam and Castiel raises his eyebrow at the both of them, slumping against the back of his chair in defeat. “Please, enlighten me, my Lord.”

For a moment, it looks like Dean is actually contemplating giving him a straight answer. Unsurprisingly, he merely grins and shakes his head. “It’s going to be a surprise. You’ll find out later.”

Castiel looks to the tutor when he turns away from the symbols. “I don’t like surprises.” Sometimes they hold the potential to be pleasant. But in recent years, most of the surprises he’s been subjected to have been anything but that.

“I know.” This time Dean laughs _with_ Sam.

Despite his ire, a smile lifts the corner of Castiel’s mouth. As the tutor clears his throat, he puts all thought of what Dean is planning out of his head. He can still be a brat, but Castiel trusts Dean not to do something that would potentially fracture their relationship. They have both come too far since he arrived for Castiel to believe that Dean would do anything to jeopardize what they both have worked so hard to achieve.

Their friendship has only grown over the years. At this point, Castiel feels as though he is one of the princes’ closest of confidants. He would never admit that out loud, of course, for fear of anyone telling him otherwise. His close relationship with both princes, and Dean in particular due to their rough start, is something that Castiel actually _prides_ himself on. As far as he can tell, the only people closer to Sam and Dean than he is are the princes themselves.

He bases this observation purely on how much time he spends with them – and alternatively how much time they _want_ him to be with them. Castiel is at their side almost the entire day from the moment they wake to the moment they go to sleep. That is something not even the King can claim. No knight or soldier; no servant or tutor; not even Lisa or any of their friends can say that they are as close to the princes as Castiel is.

It makes him feel _special_ and it’s not something he wants to give up any time soon.

*

The lessons are far less tedious than Castiel first thought they would be. As an actual _student_ ,as opposed to a silent observer, Castiel finds the lessons to be very engaging. In barely the span of a whole moon cycle, he has learned the alphabet and their sounds. He knows numbers and can write out the symbols that correspond to any number verbalized to him. His only issues are with stumbles on writing out words he hears, but he can sound out words while reading if given the time to work through it. There is still a long way to go before he will be able to read or write fluently, but progress always makes Castiel feel good.

It helps matters that the tutor is one that the princes have had for years. Though Castiel has not actually spoken to him very often, they get along well enough. At least the tutor doesn’t treat him like the barbarian most castle staff did three years ago. Time has changed the views of many people regarding Castiel in particular. He has earned their respect and they at least know that _he_ isn’t like the stories they were raised to believe about the Aladaï. Unfortunately, there is still a long way to go for the Lowlanders to see the same about the rest of his people.

Just as learning takes time, so does acceptance. That is just another lesson Castiel has learned during his time with the tutor. His lessons are not held as frequently as the princes’. Theirs are almost daily and his own are every few days – sometimes at the same time as the princes and sometimes in the evening after supper. Sometimes the princes sit in on his lesson and read quietly to themselves in another corner of the library, but most often they are left in the care of another servant in a nearby room where Castiel can get to them easily if he’s needed.

Today is one of those days where Castiel is alone in the library with the tutor. Earlier this morning, during the princes’ breakfast, he had been given a message from the King expressing his desire to spend some time with his sons. Before his lesson, Castiel had left Dean and Sam in the care of their Father and his own guards. He had still made sure that there was at least one other servant and an additional soldier in the room – just in case.

Life in the castle has been peaceful for so long that Castiel has almost come to expect it. As such, he’s caught by surprise when the library doors boom open, pushed by a soldier and a servant – the very two people that he had selected to stay with the princes during his lessons. Sam is with them and he looks harried; his round face flushed red and eyes wide. He must have been running, as his hair is coming undone from the careful braid Castiel had pulled it into this morning after their bath.

“Cas!” Sam cries out, running straight for him. Castiel is already on his feet and Sam crashes straight into his legs, small hands fisting in the fabric of his trousers. “Cas, you need to help Dean!”

Fear lurches through Castiel’s chest and he scoops Sam into his arms without a second thought. It’s easier to carry him than have him try and keep up. They are already in the halls before Castiel even asks the most important question: “What happened?”

With one hand buried in Castiel’s shirt, Sam points to where he needs to go. “Dean locked himself in a spare bedroom and he won’t let anyone else in.”

Castiel comes to a stop so suddenly that both the soldier and the servant who had been following them run right past before they realize he stopped. His surge of adrenaline drops steeply and it leaves him both confused and irritated. The way Sam had been shouting, it was as if something far worse than what sounds like a temper tantrum was happening. As concerning as it is, there was no need to _frighten_ Castiel with the announcement.

He sighs and puts Sam down. “What happened?”

“I don’t know.” Sam grabs his hand and starts pulling him in the right direction. “Dean was talking with Father and then he was shouting and he ran out of the room. A servant saw where he went.”

“And how did he lock the door?” None of the doors in the castle can be locked from the inside or the out without a key and only the most important of rooms have a different key than the rest.

Shamefaced, Sam ducks his head. “He stole a copy of the master key a long time ago.” He looks up sharply, eyes wide. “Don’t tell him I told you!”

“I won’t.” Castiel makes a note to take the key as soon as he can. Right now there are other things to do. “So, prince Dean isn’t even letting _you_ into the room?”

He shakes his head hard and tugs insistently at Castiel’s hand. “Not even me!”

Then this really _is_ serious. Castiel has never known Dean to deny Sam anything. The two princes are practically attached at the hip. In fact, Castiel is finding it very difficult to remember a time when they have ever been apart.

Sam leads him to a side room, small in comparison to the grand chambers where noble visitors are placed. Dean chose well for a place to hide himself. This bedroom is too small to warrant a private servants’ entrance. The only ways to get is the main door and through the windows. Dean will make a fine strategist one day. As for now, it is merely frustrating.

There is a motley gathering of servants, knights, and soldiers grouped in the hall around the door. Even the King is there, and he does _not_ look pleased. Under the bristles of his beard, his face is red with anger. Castiel could hear his shouting and the boom of his fist on the door long before he saw him. Instead of running to his father, Sam tucks himself against the side of Castiel’s leg, both his hands fisted in the cloth of his trousers.

Absently, Castiel rests his hand on the top of Sam’s head as he regards the King. “Please, my Lord, let me try and reason with him.”

“I have _tried_ reason. It doesn’t work with his thick head.” The King hisses and crosses his arms, though he does step out of the way. “He’s jammed the key into the lock and our own won’t fit. Do what you think you can.”

“Thank you, your Highness.” He bows shortly in thanks and turns to Sam. “Please stay here with your Father. I will just be a few minutes.”

Sam nods slowly, but glances warily at the King as he shuffles closer to his side. The King does soften slightly when Sam nears him, but his harsh glare still jumps from Castiel to the door. Clearly he has no expectation for Castiel to be any more victorious at persuading Dean to let anyone in. How unfortunate for him that he seems to have forgotten how close Dean and Castiel are now.

Slowly, he approaches the door and leans his head to the wood, listening. The soft patter of footsteps can be heard, crossing the room to and fro. Something must _really_ be agitating Dean for him to be pacing like that. Bracing himself for either rejection or acceptance, Castiel knocks on the door lightly. Almost immediately, there’s a bang against the other side.

“ _Go away!_ ”

Castiel knocks again. “Prince Dean, it’s _me_.” There is no shout that follows. “May I please come in?”

The footsteps approach the door and after a moment’s pause, Dean’s voice comes muffled through it. “Only you. Okay?”

“Of course.” He steps back and waits for the click of the lock. When he spares a glance for the King, Castiel is pleased to see him surprised. “Please let me talk to him in private. I promise he will come out of the room when I am done.”

Without waiting for a response, Castiel slips around the door as soon as Dean pulls it open. He has barely squeezed through the small opening made before the door slams shut behind him and Dean turns the key in the lock. Something akin to fear grips Castiel’s chest in a vice when Dean turns to him, eyes wide and red rimmed. His cheeks are streaked with tears, soon to be joined by those still unshed.

Castiel stumbles back a step when Dean launches himself against him. He buries his face against Castiel’s stomach as his arms circle his waist, muffling a small sob into his shirt. For a moment, Castiel is unsure what to do. Worry is ricocheting between his ribs and he knows the first logical course of action is to comfort Dean. It’s just the small matter of _how_ that currently finds him dumbfounded. In all his time caring for the princes, it is only the result of nightmares and after he’s fended off attackers that he has ever had to give some measure of comfort to either of them.

This is a very different situation full of uncharted territory and he needs to tread carefully.

Despite Dean being eleven years of age now and just starting his growth spurt, Castiel still lifts him into his arms. He does his best to ignore the sniffled tears soaking through his shoulder and looks for a place where they can sit together. The bed is the closest and it appears much more comfortable to sit on than the hard wooden chairs placed together in front of the fireplace. But even after putting Dean down on the edge of it, Castiel finds it difficult to draw away – primarily because Dean has grabbed fistfuls of his shirt and refuses to unwind his arms from around his neck.

After some gentle coaxing, Castiel does manage to pry them apart. He carefully takes his place next to Dean, trying not to jostle him too much or accidentally trigger anything that might make him cling to him again. As nice as that was, it hinders their ability to talk – though very little talking is currently happening. Dean keeps staring at the floor, his hands fisted in the part of his tunic that covers his lap. Even his nose has turned red now and a few tears continue to slip down his cheeks.

The curiosity and worry win out and Castiel can no longer hold back his question. “What’s wrong, Dean?” He keeps his voice soft; wary. “What happened?”

Dean sniffs and rubs his sleeve under his nose. “Father told me about Lisa.”

Concern blossoms in Castiel’s chest and he sits up a little straighter, looking to Dean sharply. “Did something happen to her?”

“ _No_.” He grumbles, crossing his arms over his chest and looking away. “She’s – _Father_ told me all about _me_ and Lisa.”

The concern gives way to confusion and Castiel slouches slightly, frowning down at his prince. “What did the King tell you?” He hasn’t the faintest idea what this could be about. If it’s something that concerns the princes, the King usually tells him as early on as he possibly can so Castiel can be prepared to handle it and adjust all schedules accordingly.

Dean’s bright eyes flash angrily when he looks up at him. “He said I have to _marry_ her! He’s known about this for _years_ and he kept it from me!”

Castiel catches himself just before a laugh can escape him. This is neither the time nor the place but relief washes through him so quickly it leaves him almost dizzy. It’s no surprise that he forgot about that Lowlander tradition. He had learned about the practice of arranged marriages for royalty when he first arrived, but no mention has been made of it since.

Suppressing his smile, Castiel takes Dean’s face in one hand and uses the sleeve of his shirt to wipe his tears away. “I take it that you don’t wish to marry Lisa?” Dean’s glare only grows in intensity and his mouth twists unhappily. Castiel sighs and pushes Dean’s hair back out of his eyes where it came loose from his braid too. “She’s a fine young lady, Dean, and she’s going to grow up into a lovely young woman. You could ask for no one better to be your future queen.” He lets his hands drop back to his lap. “And to my understanding, you won’t be marrying her until you come of age.”

“You _do_ know when that is, don’t you?”

Of course he does. “Fifteen.”

A sharp bark of laughter punches out of Dean and he looks away again. “I don’t want to get married that young. I don’t even _feel_ like an adult yet.” He pauses and looks up at Castiel slowly, eyes wide and worried. “How am I supposed to get married and have kids when there are still so many things I’m learning for myself?”

“That’s _four years_ away, Dean.” Castiel pats him on the shoulder, allowing a soft smile to play across his lips. “Look how much you have grown in just the _three_ that I’ve been here. There is still plenty of time for you to learn and grow.”

His answer seems to do nothing to help and Dean’s bottom lip starts to edge out into a pout. “I don’t want to do it. I like having Lisa as a _friend_.”

Sighing, Castiel stands and runs a hand over his clothing to smooth it out. “Do you want me to talk to the King about it?” He was able to talk the tutors into changing how they teach. Perhaps he’ll be able to do the same with the King – as doubtful as that may be.

Dean does contemplate it for a while. After a few minutes, he reaches out and tugs Castiel back down to sit next to him. “He won’t change his mind.” He sighs and looks down at his feet, bouncing his heels against the edge of the bed. “I mean – just look at how long he’s been hiding it from me already.”

There is truth in his words and Castiel can think of nothing more to say. The silence that follows makes him think that perhaps Dean doesn’t want any more words right now – and that seems to work for a while. Eventually, Dean lets out a long suffering sigh and he tilts towards Castiel. Before he can do anything about it, Dean slumps against his side with his head resting just below his shoulder.

This is new. This is _different_. This is territory Castiel doesn’t know how to navigate. He can offer the consoling hug every so often, but _sustained_ physical comfort? How is he supposed to handle that? What does he do? Should he get up and convince Dean that it’s time to leave the room and face his future? Or should he continue to sit here and let the prince take whatever comfort from this he can get?

The questions are answered for him when Dean sighs again. He takes Castiel’s hand from his lap and drags his arm over his head, letting it drop around his shoulders. Oh. So _this_ is an acceptable way to hold someone when they need physical comfort? Castiel will keep that in mind for any future occurrences. Experimentally, he gives Dean’s shoulder a small squeeze and he’s surprised to actually be able to _feel_ him relax against his side.

As the silence drags on, Dean sniffles a few more times. There are no more tears, but an unhappy frown still weighs down the corners of Dean’s lips. Eventually, he does speak again – but it’s in a whisper so soft that Castiel almost misses it.

“I don’t want to do it.”

“I know.” He squeezes Dean’s shoulders again. “If it is of any consolation to you, I will be at your side for all of it.”

Dean goes still against his side. After a few moments, he slowly lifts his head to look up at him. The surprise that Castiel had expected to see is not there. In a turn of events, _he_ is the one surprised to find that Dean’s eyes are full of warmth and his frown has been replaced with a small, pleased smile. It spreads a matching warmth through Castiel’s chest.

“I know, Cas.”

*

Summer storms are Castiel’s most favourite thing about this season. The blistering heat and dry air leaves much to be desired, but the _storms_ truly make it all worthwhile. They roll in over the farmlands and forests with an ease and power that no human being can replicate. Storms are a blanket of dark fury unleashed in rain, emboldened by lightning, and accented with thunder. It sets Castiel’s hair on end and sends shivers down his spine whenever he has the opportunity to watch one.

The storms in the Lowlands remind him of the strength nature can possess. It’s a fact he is reminded of almost daily in the tribe lands. Here it is something Castiel finds easy to forget. The Aladaï live _with_ nature; never taking more than they need and always giving back where they can. But here, the Lowlanders simply take it over. They dominate nature in every way allowed to them and it always leaves Castiel feeling uneasy.

He will grant the Lowlanders praise for their construction of windows. A tent would have been blown down by a storm like the one raging against the castle walls right now. Back in the tribe lands, the soothsayers and shamans would have predicted the storm well in advance – giving everyone enough time to pack their things and take refuge in what few structures the tribe actually builds out of wood and stone. Those are generally used to store weapons and food, or wares they craft for trade at the great tribe moots they hold in the southern lands during the cold months.

It was a shame that Castiel could never watch the storms back in the tribe lands. He can do that here, safely ensconced on the sill of the window in his bedroom. Behind the glass, he is safe from the driving wind and rain. The thunder makes the glass rattle in its frame and Castiel revels in feeling the vibrations against his bare shoulder where it is pressed against it. From here, he can see the trees in the garden bend and bow, dancing in the wind.

The effect is almost hypnotizing and Castiel is jarred from it by a scream from the princes’ room within moments of a jagged lightning fork and nearly drowned by the clap of thunder that follows it. Castiel recognizes the voice as Dean’s and catches the very beginning of his name before the thunder steals the rest. He is out of his own bedroom, shirt forgotten and with a sword in hand, before the last rumble has even faded from the air.

Would someone be foolish enough to make another attempt at the princes within barely a full moon cycle since the last? Castiel had cut down those assassins with the same brutal efficiency he has all the rest. The King had made sure that word was spread with the details of just _how_ Castiel had ended them in an attempt to ensure that no one would try it again. It would be true madness for anyone to make another attempt during such a storm.

Castiel is not expecting to find the princes both safe in their beds. Sam is sitting up slowly, yawning widely and knuckling the sleep from his eyes. Dean is already in the process of climbing out from under his blankets. The rest of the room is empty. Even in the dark, Castiel can tell that no one else is here. His nose is keen and he’s sure that he would be able to smell anyone who doesn’t belong. There is no one but the princes and himself and he relaxes minutely, still scanning the shadows just in case.

He intervenes before Dean can fully climb out of his bed. “What happened, Dean? Why did you call for me like that?”

“I saw someone!” Dean grasps for Castiel’s hand in the dark, almost falling from the edge of the bed as he leans out towards him. “I saw someone, Cas! They were here!”

“Where?” Quickly, Castiel loops his free arm around Dean’s waist and moves him to Sam’s bed where they can be together and easier to protect. “How many did you see?”

“Just one.” He points across the room towards the doors, shut tight and locked from the inside. “I saw their shadow on the wall.”

With the blankets drawn tight around them, Castiel leaves the princes to inspect the room. It goes quickly. There are no wet foot prints or any sign of another person being present. He even makes sure to check that the door to the servants’ entrance is properly secured. Everything is as tightly locked as it had been hours ago when he put the princes to bed. Castiel suspects that it was merely Dean’s imagination playing tricks on him, but he humours him nonetheless and drops to his knees to check under the beds.

Just as he does so, another crack of thunder splits the air. Lightning flashes behind the heavy curtains, casting muted shadows throughout the room. Castiel sees one dart across the doors out of the corner of his eye and both the princes give a cry of surprise. This time they both point in sync toward where the shadow disappeared into the dark corners of the room. He doesn’t bother to check it. The princes may not know what they saw, but Castiel does.

“Where are you going?” Dean demands, his voice pitching up in fear as Castiel turns toward the balcony. “That’s the wrong way!”

“It’s the _right_ way, actually.” He corrects him and pulls the curtains back to reveal the numerous potted plants dotting the balcony beyond the glass doors.

There is a small tree, not much taller than Castiel, sitting in the middle of the small garden. When lightning forks through the clouds again, Castiel turns to watch its shadow whip across the opposite walls. With a smug satisfaction, he lets the curtains fall closed again and returns to the beds.

“It’s merely a tree.” Castiel explains, discarding his sword on a chair as he passes it. He’ll need both hands if he hopes to try carrying the quickly growing prince back to his own bed. “It’s nothing that you need to worry about, Dean.”

Sam muffles another yawn and drops back against his pillows, already returning to sleep. Dean, on the other hand, is wide-eyed and staring at Castiel in the meager light from the fire. He shakes his head and slides deeper under the blankets until only his eyes and the top of his head can be seen from under them. Clearly he has no intention of returning to his own bed and Castiel takes no issue with letting them share it for tonight.

Normally he would question Dean’s behavior, but he understands it all too well. Ever since the attack last month, Dean has been on edge. The exact reason behind his tightly wound nerves is still unknown to him, but Castiel knows that everyone reacts differently to everything. In his case, he has raised his guard again. It had been so long since the last attempt on the princes’ lives that Castiel had allowed himself to relax and that proved nearly fatal.

Though no real harm was done, one of the assassins had managed to catch him across the ribs with their blade. It has since scarred over, but there had been more blood than Castiel has shed in a very long time. The events of that night have left a mark on Dean, not unlike his scar. He had been the most upset over the wound, using anger to mask his fear.

Castiel had expected to have some difficult with Dean’s attitude following that. He had thought that perhaps the prince would think that his skills were slipping and he could no longer protect them as well as he used to. And yet, during the time it took for Castiel to recover, the princes had never been better behaved. It was both surprising, pleasing, and greatly appreciated.

Which is why he makes no objection tonight. “Please don’t keep your brother up all night.” He whispers, leaning over to tuck Dean in properly. “He’s barely eight and he needs his sleep.”

Dean allows him to pull the blanket away from his head to smooth it around his shoulders as he settles more comfortably against the pillows, relaxing slowly. “I know, Cas.”

“Good.” In a moment of tenderness, Castiel rests his hand on Dean’s forehead and brushes his thumb against the bridge of his nose. “You don’t need to worry, Dean. As long as I’m here, no one is going to hurt you.” He waits for a soft sound of acceptance before he moves away. “Good night.”

Before Castiel can take a step – nay, before he completely turns away – Dean sits upright and grabs his wrist. His words are a rushed, loud whisper. “Don’t leave me!”

Castiel covers his hand with his own and leans over the bed again, trying to get him to lay down. “I’m never going to leave you, Dean. You know that.”

Dean nods, but his grip only grows tighter. “Stay here.” He tugs at Castiel’s wrist as he slides over to make more space on that side of the bed. “Please, Cas? _Stay_.”

Hesitation causes Castiel to freeze in place. He stops and stares at the space Dean gestures at with his free hand. It would be inappropriate of him, a _servant_ , to even think of sleeping in the same bed as royalty. Surprisingly, this is the first time that Dean has asked him to do this. At all other times, he has merely insisted that Castiel stay in the room – preferably as close to him as possible.

Carefully, he extracts himself from Dean’s grip. “Very well. I’ll sleep here tonight. Please give me just a moment to fetch my bedroll.” He quickly steps out of reach before Dean can grab onto him again. “I’ll sleep between you and the balcony and make sure no one comes in.”

“No, not there.” Dean shakes his head again. “Sleep here.” He points at the open spot next to him, a fierce determination in his voice.

It feels like a lump fixes itself in Castiel’s throat and he swallows around it. “I can’t do that, Dean. It’s not proper. I’ll be on the floor –”

“ _No_.” He hisses, bringing his hand down sharply on the mattress. “I want you to sleep _here_ , Cas.” His round face, already starting to thin out as he grows into a young man, turns hard and defiant. “Don’t make me _order you_ as your prince.”

Sighing, Castiel rubs a hand over his face and takes another step away. “As you wish. I will join you in a few minutes. There are some things I need to do first.”

Dean’s gaze is heavy upon his shoulders as Castiel returns to his room. He finds his shirt draped over the back of a chair and pulls it on, not bothering to tuck it into his pants. The fire in the small stove in the corner of his room is nearly out and Castiel pays it no mind, but he does throw another log and a handful of tinder onto the fire of the princes’ room. Stone walls always feel so cold to him and he doesn’t want to risk the princes’ catching sick.

With nothing else to distract him, Castiel has no other choice than to return to the bed and where Dean is waiting for him. The blankets have already been drawn back for him, but Castiel flips them down into place and lays on top of them. The mattress, so much softer than his own, feels strange under his back. Thankfully, Dean doesn’t question it. His curious gaze is interrupted with a loud yawn as he wiggles back under the blankets.

He curls on his side, facing Castiel. After a few moments of silence, Dean reaches over and folds his fingers into the fabric of Castiel’s shirt. Incidentally, his fist rests directly on top of the newest scar on Castiel’s ribs. It’s fairly close to Castiel’s heart and he wouldn’t doubt it if Dean can feel it beating under his knuckles.

The next time Castiel glances at him, Dean’s eyes are closed and his mouth slack. Sam makes a snorting sound behind him, mumbling nonsense sounds in his sleep as he turns over. Castiel looks away from them both, forcing his mind into silence before any thoughts can make themselves known. He stares at the canopy above the bed, using the shadows cast by the fire and lit by the lightning behind the curtain to distract himself.

This is the first, but not the last, that Castiel falls asleep with Dean’s hand firmly clutching his shirt.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean’s free hand moves to a few scars on Castiel’s bicep and he frowns at them, tracing their edges with his fingertips. After a few moments of silence, he lifts his eyes again. “You’re not allowed to get hurt anymore. I don’t want you to get any more scars, Cas.”

Castiel hates the cold of the lowlands during the winter season. Even after years of living here, he still has yet to adjust to the fact that Lowlanders actually _stay_ here instead of migrating to the southern lands. With all the snow blanketing the ground, it’s hard to believe that anyone could live through this time of the year, regardless of how much they manage to store and preserve. It’s just so _cold_ and Castiel will take any and every excuse offered to him not to have to go outside with the princes.

The castle, despite its stone walls, is kept warm enough that he could almost forget the biting chill beyond them. Castiel considers the stove in the corner of his bedroom a blessing. It warms the small room nicely and his clothing in the morning is almost heavenly if he places them close enough to it before sleeping. He does the same for the princes in the morning after their baths, drying them with warmed towels and helping them change quickly. At night he places pans full of coals from the fire under the blankets at the foot of their beds.

Thus far, his regimen of keeping the princes warm and dry while eating a balanced diet has managed to keep them from getting sick. A few of the other servants are sneezing and coughing and Castiel has banned them from coming anywhere near the princes or the things they come into contact with. He doesn’t want to spread the sickness to them. What few times he’s had to deal with Dean or Sam being sick have been absolute nightmares and he tries to avoid it as best as possible.

Which is why any room the princes are in must be properly heated. And since Castiel makes sure their bedroom is as steady a temperature as possible, they tend to spend most of their time in there. Half their toys get relocated to their bedroom during the winter. But the mood set by a roaring fire keeping away the cold seems to make them both sluggish. They prefer curling up together on a chair to read – whether with Castiel or not.

Today, he was not asked to read with them. It was an opportunity Castiel seized quickly to duck away into his own bedroom to tend to a few chores he had been neglecting. After dusting all the surfaces and rearranging a few of his things, Castiel turned to his last task: personal grooming. His hair is still short by Lowlander standards, but it’s just long enough to bother him; tickling his ears and curling over his forehead. Since today is so quiet, it’s a perfect time to deal with it.

Castiel is in the middle of using a sharpened dagger to shorten his bangs when he hears footsteps at the entrance to his room. “Cas? You in here?”

“Yes, Dean.” He spares a glance at the reflection of the door before he turns his attention back to slicing the blade through the strands of hair he’s holding straight. “You may come in, if you would like.” When the door swings open, Castiel looks again to watch Dean slip into the room and quietly close the door behind himself. “Where is your brother?”

Dean shrugs and studies the room with the same curiosity he showed the first time he came in here years ago. “He fell asleep.” His gaze stops on Castiel just as he drops to sit on the edge of the bed. “What are you doing?”

Castiel can’t help the teasing smile that spreads on his lips. Without taking his eyes from the dagger and the new handful of hair he’s cutting, he says; “I feel like the answer is rather obvious.”

“I meant _why_ are you doing it?” He rolls his eyes and leans back on his hands.

“It’s Aladaï tradition to cut one’s hair.” The cut hair flutters from his fingers to the floor as Castiel shakes his hand out and moves on to another handful. “Long hair can be used against us in battle. Short hair is harder to grab.”

Movement in the mirror catches his attention and Castiel drops his eyes to the reflection of his bed. Dean pulls his own hair forward over his shoulder to examine it. After his bath this morning, Castiel had pulled it back with a ribbon and braided it nicely. He’s gotten very good at that over the years and can do more intricate braids depending on the events for the day or how bored he is.

The princes seem to have no care for their hair. As long as it stays out of their faces, they’re happy. Per Lowlander tradition regarding royalty, they only get their hair cut once a year. But even then it’s only cut to their shoulders. Right now, Dean’s hair is rather long and he holds the braid in his palm, frowning at it. Castiel can’t read anything in his expression and he chooses to ignore it, turning his focus back to his own hair and the task at hand.

After a few moments, Dean clears his throat. “You do know that we have shears to do make cutting your hair easier, don’t you?”

“I’m aware.” Castiel sighs and switches the dagger to his other hand. “But I have always cut my hair with a knife and I shall continue to do so.”

Dean tilts his head. “Do Aladaï even have shears?”

“Some do.” He shrugs and turns his head to inspect the job he had done on the back. “Shears are rather unnecessary when everything we do can be accomplished with a properly handled knife.”

There are no more questions forthcoming, but Dean does makes a curious noise in the back of this throat. He continues to absently toy with his braid while he watches Castiel continue to cut his hair. Before Dean joined him, Castiel was mostly finished. He has nothing more than a few touch ups to do before he’ll consider the job as done.

This was an easier task when he was living in the tribe lands and someone else was willing to help him or do it for him. More often than not, Castiel would usually cut it himself. It was hard without a mirror and that’s why another person’s assistance was usually required. He could technically ask another of the servants here in the lowlands, but even after so many years here he doesn’t feel completely _comfortable_ with anyone enough to trust them to hold a sharpened implement near his head.

As he finishes, Castiel dusts the stray hairs from his bare shoulders and shivers imperceptibly. He should stoke the fire soon, both in his room and the princes’. He can feel a slight chill in the air and the fire has died down a little while he was working. Though it doesn’t bother him that much at the moment, he shouldn’t take the chance that either of the princes isn’t cold. Sam is still sleeping and he should be moved to the bed or woken now so he won’t be cranky later.

Dean has yet to look away from him and Castiel can feel the weight of his stare on his back. He tilts his head until he catches Dean’s eyes in the mirror’s reflection. “Does it look satisfactory?”

“It’s fine.” With a shrug, Dean drops his gaze for a moment. Eventually, he looks up again and his face is open with curiosity. “You never told me where you got the ones on your back.”

His first reaction is confusion and Castiel turns to look over his shoulder at the reflection of his back. “My tattoos? I’ve told you many times how and why I got my wings.”

“No, the _scars_. They’re on top of your tattoos.” Dean stands and smoothes his hands over the front of his tunic. When Castiel turns around again to fold open the pouch where he keeps the items for personal grooming, Dean steps up behind him. Castiel watches him in the mirror as Dean reaches out as if he were going to touch the scars across his back, but he stops just shy of doing it. “I remember every scar that you ever got from protecting me and Sam, and I don’t remember these.”

Oh. Slowly, Castiel places the dagger on the table and turns away to reach for his shirt. It’s too hard to meet the curious eyes watching him in the mirror. Of all his scars, those are the only ones he holds no pride for. How he got them is a story that he doesn’t want to tell. It would only remind Dean of a time when they were more enemies than anything else.

Dean stops him from putting his shirt on with a hand on his wrist. His eyes are wide and pleading – a look he knows Castiel has trouble denying. “I want to know, Cas. Tell me?”

He has to look away and swallow his pride before he can say anything about that evening. “I received them as punishment.”

The hand on his wrist tightens. “ _Why_ were you punished?” Dean’s voice grows louder – _angrier_. “Who did it? Who _ordered_ it?”

“The King.” Castiel sighs and covers Dean’s hand with his own, trying to urge him to let go. “It doesn’t matter who did it. It was so long ago and they were only doing their job.” Dean most certainly doesn’t need to know that the dungeon keeper went above and beyond what he was ordered to do.

“But _why_ were you punished?” Dean only holds on tighter, his young face drawn into a dark frown. An angry flush is filling his cheeks and making the freckles on them stand on. “I want to know _why_ , Cas!”

Resigning himself, Castiel looks down at the shirt in his hand. “Do you remember the evening when I –” He doesn’t know how to say it without sounding cruel. The angry person he was then is no longer the same person he is now. “It was not long after I came here. Perhaps nothing more than a few moons and it was well before you and I ever got along.”

Comprehension starts dawning in Dean’s eyes and Castiel glances away from them again. “I was angry all the time and my patience had reached its limit with you.” His throat feels tight. Remembering the fear on Dean’s face that night makes his heart twist painfully. “That night, I was intent on taking you outside to find a switch to punish you with. You were crying, and –”

“I remember that.” Dean whispers, looking away briefly while he recalls that particular moment. “I didn’t know what you were going to do and I was scared. We’ve had so many good times since then that I kind of – I just forgot about it.”

Castiel shrugs again and tries once more to extract his wrist from Dean’s grip. “In either case, these scars are deserved. Most of the time I’ve all but forgotten them.”

The anger returns to Dean’s face in an instant and his upper lip curls back. “But you _didn’t_ deserve it! Not to the extent that you should have _scars_. You only scared me a little bit!”

“Dean, I was going to tan your backside with a switch.” He puts it bluntly, hoping that it will emphasize just how wrong a choice that had been. “I let my anger get the better of me and I disregarded all notions of how to raise a child.”

“But you didn’t hurt me.” Dean insists, tugging at Castiel’s wrist. “You didn’t deserve to be _whipped_ for that! That’s what they did, isn’t it? You were whipped?”

It warms Castiel’s heart to know that Dean is upset by this, even though it happened so long ago. Without thinking, he moves his hand from over Dean’s to the top of his head, pushing back the few strands of hair that have escaped the braid throughout the day. “There is no need for you to be upset now, Dean. The past is in the past and nothing can be said or done to change it.”

“But I –”

“I was out of line and I deserved my punishment for it.” He interrupts, letting his hand drop to his side before he finds himself lingering. “I learned my lesson and I have made sure never to make that same mistake again.”

Dean’s free hand moves to a few scars on Castiel’s bicep and he frowns at them, tracing their edges with his fingertips. After a few moments of silence, he lifts his eyes again. “You’re not allowed to get hurt anymore. I don’t want you to get any more scars, Cas.”

His next breath almost catches in his throat and Castiel takes a deep breath before he responds. “That’s a promise I can’t keep, Dean. You know that.”

A muscle ticks in the side of Dean’s jaw as he clenches his teeth, eyes narrowing. He closes his hand over the scars and squeezes. “You belong to _me_ , Cas, and I don’t want you getting hurt anymore.”

As gently as he can, Castiel extracts himself from Dean’s grip and steps out of reach. A heavy weight is settling in his chest, both warm and painful at the same time. “I belong to no one, Dean. I came here for my people and I stay here for them.” Hurt flashes across Dean’s face and Castiel places a hand on his shoulder. “And I stay for the friendships that I have made. But you know that as your protector, _and_ as your friend, I will always put myself between you and anyone who intends to harm you – regardless of the danger to myself.”

Dean’s face darkens in a flush again and Castiel can’t tell if it’s in anger or something else. His eyes drop to the floor as his hands ball into fists at his side. If he’s getting into one of his stubborn moods, Castiel knows that there is almost nothing for him to do but wait it out. If he’s quick enough, he might be able to distract him with something else. Perhaps convincing him to wake Sam and take him to the play room will stop Dean from getting any further into his mood.

Castiel turns away to pull his shirt on, his mind already racing through possible ideas to entertain the princes for the rest of the day. And yet, he still can’t stop thinking about the current moment. As nice as it is to know that Dean cares for him enough to want his safety, it’s a moot point. Dean’s own safety will always be a priority to Castiel – prince or not.

Once his shirt is on properly and tucked into the waist of his pants, Castiel turns to Dean with a question on his tongue. It falls apart before he can even speak it and his heart stutters in surprise. In one hand, Dean is holding Castiel’s dagger. In the other he holds the entire length of his braid, already starting to unravel where it is no longer attached to his head.

Tilting his chin up in defiance, his eyes holding a challenge, Dean drops the braid and holds the dagger out to him. “Now make it look like yours.”

His mouth moves with no sound for quite a few moments before Castiel can bring himself to take the dagger from him. The hilt digs into his palm as he stares at the loose mess of Dean’s hair hanging unevenly around his ears. He can’t decide if he’s horrified or just horribly confused because _why_ would Dean do such a thing? What could have possibly provoked him to do so?

Dean must read the question in his face and he looks all the more victorious for it. “You said long hair can be easily grabbed. If I have short hair like you, then no one is going to be able to grab it.” He all but _grins_ at Castiel as his hands drop to the belt around his waist. “This is just the first step towards being capable of protecting myself enough that you won’t get hurt anymore.”

When the belt drops, Dean starts tugging his tunics over his head. Castiel can only assume that he’s undressing to keep his clothing from getting full hair. Yet still Castiel is left speechless by the determination etched in every line of Dean’s being.

“And I want you to start training me more in how Aladaï fight.” Dean continues as he folds his tunics carefully and lays them on the table. “I want to be as deadly as you are.” He looks up at Castiel again, daring him to deny him. “I mean it, Cas. I don’t want you getting hurt anymore on my account.”

Warmth flares through Castiel’s chest, tingling along his ribs and making it hard to breathe. This is a new feeling to him. It’s not one that he recognizes, but a smile is spreading across his lips before he even realizes that it’s there.

*

This is the time that Castiel has feared since Dean’s tenth birthday. He’s a little surprised (and was rather concerned) that it took almost three years for Dean to start exhibiting these behaviours, but today only confirms what he started to suspect a fortnight or two ago. It began perhaps a moon after Dean cut his hair and it started slowly.

At first, Dean was merely being a little odd. During the princes’ bathing times, he would stop looking Castiel in the eye and turn away from him while he undressed. That lasted for a few days before he refused to let Castiel help with the washing of his hair and back. He claimed that it was something he could do on his own, and as much as Castiel supports Dean learning to be more independent, he had been a little worried by the near sudden change.

His worries only grew when Dean started insisting on dressing himself and that Castiel should be facing away from him during those times. They increased a hundred fold the morning that Dean had barred both him _and_ Sam from entering the bathing room at the same time as him. Since then, Sam has spent every day of the last fortnight confused and upset about the change in his brother. Castiel has simply been preparing to handle any potential situation that may come from this.

At first he had thought it strange that Dean simply decided to change their routine without any notice. But when he did it repeatedly, day after day refusing to allow Castiel to help him as he always has, it dawned on him that perhaps puberty has finally caught Dean in its relentless and awkward grip. Once he realized this, Castiel made accommodations to their routines to take into account that while he matures, Dean is going to want more privacy. The changes he is undergoing may be difficult for him and Castiel needs to be ready to not only answer any questions, but to handle any situation that might arise.

This is doubly difficult where Sam is concerned, as he has no idea what is happening and Castiel would prefer not to tell him anything that might cause upset with Dean were he to know that they are talking of him outside of his presence. Although, if he didn’t want that to happen, he shouldn’t be shutting himself away in their usual bathing room every other day without giving his brother any reason as to why. It also forces Castiel to bathe Sam in a separate room, but at least it’s next door where he would be able to be at Dean’s side within a moment’s notice if necessary. There is no extra strain to him for it, but Castiel _does_ worry about Dean’s silence.

He worries enough that it occupies his thoughts the entire time while he washes Sam’s hair. So much so that he almost misses the conversation Sam has been apparently having without him, only catching the very last of it.

“– and he’s keeping _secrets_ from me, Cas!”

There is only one person Sam could be talking about. “How can you be certain that Dean is hiding things from you if he has yet to specifically say that he is?”

Castiel’s question is worded just so to trip Sam’s eight year old mind up enough that it might very well skip his thoughts right out of the unhappy rut they are currently in. He checks Sam’s hair thoroughly to ensure that no soap remains in it before he dumps a few more ladles full of warm water over his head – for good measure.

Finally, Sam works out the meaning of his question and turns to frown up at him while blinking the water from his eyes. “But he _is_. He hasn’t said he is, but I know he is!”

“But _how_ do you know?” He raises an eyebrow at him before turning away to fetch the towel hanging close to the fire. “You won’t know for certain unless Dean tells you.”

“I just _do_.” Sam huffs, crossing his arms and glaring at him from his place in the basin. “And I’m not being per – parr –” It takes a moment for him to find the correct word. “ _Paranoid_. I’m not being paranoid!” His round face crumples with doubt. “Right?”

Taking pity on him, Castiel holds the towel open for Sam to step into once he climbs out of the basin. “Dean is simply growing up. You’ll understand why this is happening when it’s your turn to go through the same changes he is.”

From the steps against the side of the basin, Sam nearly flings himself into the towel for Castiel to wrap it around him. “But why does that mean we can’t bathe together anymore? Or why he won’t let you help him change? That’s your _job_ , isn’t it?”

“It is.” Castiel sighs and pulls the edge of the towel up over Sam’s head to start drying his hair. His movements more from memory than anything else while he thinks of how he should explain this. “Dean is becoming more private about his body because Lowlanders hold skewed views regarding nudity around others after a certain age.”

Sam peeks up at him in confusion from under the folds of the towel. Of course he doesn’t understand yet. He wasn’t given the same lessons that Dean was by the tutors when they were brought in to instruct him on the changes his body was going to undergo. Castiel had not been present for the entirety of that lesson, but he was there long enough to know that they did not teach all the things that they should have.

“I can’t speak for your people or their ways, but I can tell you what Dean is going through from an Aladaï perspective.” As he explains, Castiel continues to dry Sam off. “In my culture, we accept that the bodies of men and women alike are beginning to change around Dean’s age. They will grow taller, broader, and heavier and they will grow hair in places they have never had it before.”

As soon as he says that, Sam’s eyes drop to Castiel’s shoulder. “Like how you have hair under your arms?” He reaches up to poke Castiel’s chin and the stubble across his jaw. “And this?”

“Exactly.” Castiel smiles and taps him on the nose before he drops to one knee to help him step into his stockings. “But from my understanding, Lowlanders find these changes either embarrassing or something to be ashamed of. I have tried to weed that out of him as Aladaï fully accept and embrace these changes in ourselves and our children, but I’m not sure I’ve achieved the desired effect judging by Dean’s current actions.”

He has done his best to try and get Dean to understand that Aladaï are very open about this time in a child’s life. They encourage everyone to ask questions and explore these changes in their bodies. But the Lowlanders take an entirely different approach and it’s one that Castiel despises. No matter how he tried to tell Dean that he could come to him with any questions, his suggestions had been dismissed. These last several days have only helped Castiel to truly realize the scope of the Lowlander’s ignorance.

Aside from the tutors, _no one_ – not the knights, the soldiers, other servants, or even the _King_ – has offered to talk to Dean about this. Castiel berates himself almost constantly for not fostering this knowledge into Dean long before now. Dean already knows that he can come to him about anything, but there are some things the tutors teach that not even Castiel can circumvent from taking root in the young princes’ minds.

At least there is still hope for Sam.

“If I have questions when it’s my turn to grow up, can I ask you?” Sam asks as he drops the towel and reaches for his under tunic.

“Of course.” Castiel smiles up at him as he finishes tying the sash that keeps Sam’s loins around his waist. “That’s what I’m here for and I would much rather that you come to me before you ask anyone else. They might keep things from you, but I will always be truthful.”

The sly twinkle in Sam’s bright eyes is obscured by his under tunic as he pulls it over his head. “I’m going to remember that, Cas.”

“I’m sure you will.” He gathers the towel and takes it back to the fire to dry while Sam finishes with his over tunic. “Is there anything else you would like to know right now?”

After making sure that his tunic is sitting properly across his shoulder, and the sleeves aren’t bunched on his arms, Sam continues to toy with the cuff at his wrist. He doesn’t lift his head to meet Castiel’s eyes. “Do you think Dean is going to want his own room now?”

Castiel muses over his answer while he slides the belt around Sam’s waist and buckles it for him. His answer needs to be chosen carefully, otherwise he risks upsetting him. “If he does, we’ll find rooms that are next to each other. Dean and I will only be a door or two away and I will be able to get to you both if I am needed.”

Should that be the case, it will only make Castiel’s position as their protector several times harder. He’ll have to resort to using more guards than he does now – posting them at all entrances to the rooms or something very similar. Even then, that might not prevent the worst case scenario. If both of the princes were attacked, it would a moment straight from Castiel’s nightmares. He would be forced to choose who he would save and who he would risk losing to an assassin or a kidnapper.

Any thought like that makes Castiel’s heart clench painful and he has to force himself not to think about it. If he ever allows himself to dwell on those thoughts, he might actually – eventually – determine an answer to the ever burning question; _who would he save_? It’s a question that makes his stomach drop and only Sam’s thankful smile saves him from taking that path again.

“Come. Let’s brush out your hair before the tangles become unmanageable.” Castiel forces himself not to think about it any further and he stands, offering his hand to Sam.

He leads him out of that specific bathing room and into the common chamber linking all the rooms together. The servants’ bathing area is nowhere near here and these rooms are merely for guests who wish to bathe privately. There is a _massive_ bath to one side of this room that could easily fit more than a dozen grown men. It has a special heater all its own situated underneath.

In the common room, there are chairs and chaises gathered in the center. Standing mirrors are against the walls and can be brought over for anyone who wants to look at themselves while a servant helps to groom them. Sam never requires one. He always sits still while Castiel carefully brushes out his hair, ensuring there are no knots or tangles.

“How would you like your hair done today?”

“I saw Miss Mills with her hair in a ball the other day.” Sam reaches back to gather his hair and twist it up in example. “Can you do that?”

“I can try.” Castiel pushes his sleeves up his arms. He knows the style Sam is speaking about, but how to execute it will require some experimentation.

He’s only barely just begun before Sam interrupts him. “Do you think Dean has been gone for too long?” His hair is pulled out from under Castiel’s hands when Sam turns around to look up at him. “He’s been in the bath for a long time now.”

That is true. Dean should at least be dressed by now. “I’ll go check on him.”

Leaving Sam on the chaise, Castiel crosses the room to the door of the chamber he knows Dean is in. It was right next to the one Sam was using. He places his ear to the door first, listening for any sound to make sure that someone is still in there. The wood is too thick to hear any breathing, but he should at least be able to hear footsteps.

Castiel hears nothing. If Dean is in there, he isn’t moving around. A number of possibilities flicker through his mind, each increasingly worse than the last; maybe Dean slipped and hurt himself, or maybe he’s unconscious, or he could have _drowned_.

Concern clogs the space between Castiel’s ribs and he knocks sharply. “Dean, have you finished bathing? May I come in?”

He gets no answer and one hand slips behind his back to the dirk hidden in a sheath in the small of his back – though he doubts that there is anyone unsavoury inside. This is the only way in or out of the room and Castiel is almost positive that no one entered while he was with Sam. His other hand falls on the door’s latch and he shoulders the door open in one smooth motion, bracing himself for the worst.

Castiel can’t say that he actually _sees_ much of anything when he glances quickly around the room, searching for anything that might be out of place. The only thing that jumps out to him is Dean sitting hunched on the steps of the basin. His towel is pooled around his hips and Castiel only catches a bare glimpse of his hand moving in his lap before realization strikes almost as hard as the surprise.

Dean’s head snaps up, eyes wide and his flushed face flaring even darker. Whatever it is that Dean shouts at him, and even whatever it is that he throws, is never heard and never seen. Castiel shuts the door too quickly for either and he backs away from it as fast as his feet will carry him, nearly tripping over his heels. When he turns around, Sam is standing and his round face is creased with worry.

Sam takes a few steps toward Castiel and points at him. “Your face is red.”

That small fact surprises Castiel slightly and he brings a hand to his heated cheeks. It hadn’t occurred to him, but of course he would be blushing too. Apparently his time in the lowlands has affected him more than he thought. Back in the tribe lands, such an event would barely have phased him. It was neither odd nor surprising to walk past a tent and hear someone pleasuring themselves or another. And when you travel with a contingent of men for moons at a time on missions, you tend not to react when someone pushes back their bedrolls to take themselves in hand while everyone else is sleeping.

He clears his throat and ushers Sam back to the chaise. “It’s nothing.”

But Sam does not look even remotely convinced. “Why did Dean shout?”

“Because I surprised him.” It’s not a lie, but it is not the full truth.

Castiel tries to get Sam to sit down again, but he keeps twisting around to look up at him. “Is it something to be ashamed about? Like what we were talking about before?”

Cupping his cheeks, he forces Sam to look forward again. “It’s nothing shameful, but it _is_ something private.” He clears his throat again and spares one last glance at the door before he gathers Sam’s hair to tie it back. “If Dean chooses to tell you about it, then he will. It is not my place to say anything.”

As an Aladaï, hiding this from another child feels wrong. But as someone living in the lowlands, Castiel knows that he needs to work by their rules and ways. And he has the feeling that if he says anything about it to anyone, Dean will be absolutely _furious_ with him.

Sam’s shoulders slouch and he crosses his arms. If he turned around now, Castiel would not be surprised to see a pout on his lips. “Now _you’re_ keeping secrets from me too.”

“I’m sorry, Sam, but it is not my secret to give.”

He occupies himself with braiding Sam’s hair, taking his time with it. Sam starts to get restless, but before he tries pulling away, Dean finally comes out of the bathing room. His shoulders are squared but his face is still filled with a blush and he won’t meet Castiel’s eyes. Words are just as forthcoming as eye contact and Dean strides off without saying anything.

Castiel can only shake his head at Sam’s concerned frown before he crouches to offer his back to him. To make up for keeping Dean’s secret, Castiel carries Sam to breakfast on his back. At first Dean walks ahead of them, but he quickly falls behind and trails after them. Every time that Castiel glances back, Dean’s eyes are firmly fixed on the floor. And nothing about that changes throughout the rest the day.

By the time they retire to the princes’ bedroom for the night, Castiel can count the number of words Dean has said to him on one hand. And even while tucking Sam under the blankets in his own bed, Castiel can’t properly recall if Dean ever looked at him again after they left the bathing chambers. It’s a little upsetting, but today something new happened for them both and he just wishes he knew how he should handle it. Having to take into account the ways of lowlanders is infuriating on a variety of levels.

Because he is nearly thirteen, Dean is allowed to stay up a little later than Sam is. He usually sits quietly by the fire with an open book in his lap while Castiel pads silently around the room, slowly carrying out what few tasks he does when he puts the princes to bed. First he checks to ensure that the balcony doors are locked and that all cracks in the frame have been sealed tight to prevent the cold from seeping through. Then he pulls the curtains shut and spends an unnecessary amount of time smoothing them out to make them hang _perfectly._

When he notifies Dean that it’s time to prepare for bed, he has already picked out the clothing the princes will wear tomorrow, cleaned the ashes out of the grate, stoked the fire and replaced the coals in the pan under Sam’s blanket. Sam is snoring softly into his pillow and Castiel carefully pulls the blankets higher up his shoulders while Dean changes behind him. When he is done, Dean washes his face with warmed water from a shallow bowl while Castiel takes his clothing from today and carefully folds them to store in the chest at the end of Dean’s bed.

After that, there is nothing more to keep them from looking at each other or speaking. Dean, however, does neither and he stands at the edge of his bed, shifting awkwardly from foot to foot. Castiel can take no more of this and the first words out of his mouth are an apology.

“It will not happen again, Dean. I promise you. It was not my intention to see –”

Dean’s hand cuts through the air in a sharp gesture to stop him from speaking. “You saw nothing and it never happened. We’re going to forget about it and everything is going to be back to normal again tomorrow, okay?”

Castiel presses his lips together and ignores the soft ache in his chest. Now that Dean is maturing, there will be no returning to _normal_. “I won’t bring it up again.” He continues speaking in a rushed whisper before Dean can say anything more. “But in the future, if you’re going to be taking care of yourself behind closed doors, you should answer me when I knock so I don’t come in.”

An unhappy frown twists across Dean’s lips and he turns to face his bed, likely trying to hide the blush rising in his cheeks again. “I was _busy_.”

“I’m aware.” This is not going as smoothly as he wishes it would. It almost feels _weird_ to be having this kind of conversation with Dean. Not exactly awkward, but not completely comfortable. He clears his throat and continues again, trying to sound as sympathetic as he can be. “I understand the need to relieve oneself like that, Dean. It happens for all boys your age and it will continue to happen through the majority of your life.”

The blush spreads into Dean’s ears and down the back of his neck, but for the first time since this morning he lifts his head and gives Castiel an almost _shy_ look. “Does that include you?”

For a moment, Castiel is stumped by the question and a tingle rushes along his ribs as soon as he understands. A small smile lifts his lips. “Despite popular belief, I _am_ indeed human and am subject to the same desires as one.”

His small attempt at a joke does not have the effect he had been aiming for. Dean’s whole body goes tense and he looks away so sharply that Castiel’s neck twinges in sympathy. Without another word, Dean scrambles onto the bed and under his blankets, tugging them up around his ears. He lays with his back facing Castiel and it is quite clearly the end of their fractured conversation.

It’s a little jarring and Castiel stands in silence for longer than he should. His head is full of confusion and his heart is full of hurt. Slowly, and hoping that Dean will turn over to say _something_ , Castiel shuffles into the space between the beds to put out the candles on the table there. But Dean says nothing, not even when Castiel fills the pan with coals and places it under his blanket; not even when the door to his bedroom creaks open.

In one last attempt, Castiel looks back through the somber dark of the room and whispers at the shadowed shapes across the chamber. “Goodnight, Dean.”

He gets nothing in return.

*

Castiel was wrong. Things really do never return to the normal they once knew, but his life with the princes finds another steady rhythm that becomes their _new_ normal. As long as Castiel gives Dean is space and is there for him when he is needed, Dean does not have as many of his embarrassed moods as he had when he first started acting oddly. Just as is their forte, they find another equal ground between them – though it takes quite some time for it to happen.

By summertime, Dean is more or less over his embarrassment. He still refuses to allow Castiel into his bathing chamber or to help him with his clothing, but he _has_ cracked regarding other things. More specifically, he has started asking Castiel questions. It’s something to be proud of and Castiel praises Dean every time he comes to him about something he needs help understanding about both his body and himself.

And, as he promised, Castiel has started training the princes in Aladaï combat. He had thought that at least one of them would shy away from grappling and fighting hand-to-hand, but Dean throws himself into the training with a surprising vigor. Sam imitates his enthusiasm, but more often than not he doesn’t pay any attention when it isn’t his turn to spar. He’ll sit off to one side with a book during the times when Castiel is showing Dean the different moves.

Since Castiel is still much taller and stronger than the princes, he refuses to spar with them himself. He merely gently demonstrates some holds with them while walking them through the rest of the motions and tactics before he allows them to grapple with each other. Dean may be thirteen now and growing quickly, but Sam is still more his size than Castiel is. Truthfully, Castiel thinks Sam is just getting rather tall for his age. By the time he is fully matured, he might actually stand taller than him.

Taking Dean through the different holds of Aladaï grappling is never the same twice. Sometimes Dean is capable of continuing as though nothing were wrong, but sometimes he blushes from head to toe and fumbles through the holds. He all but runs away after the lessons are over and sequesters himself in a side room – sometimes for only a short period and sometimes for the rest of the day. It’s a confusing reaction to the lessons, but Castiel accepts it. If being alone is something that helps Dean deal with this time in his life, then Castiel will support it.

All he asks is that Dean actually _learns_ something from the grappling lessons. Despite his red face and inability to apparently look at Castiel directly, Dean does seem to have a firm grasp of the material. He shows an exceptional use of the knowledge whenever he and Sam spar. They never leave the training fields without a few bruises, but Castiel makes sure to supervise them closely and has bags stuffed with straw laid out for them to fall on when they practice the flips and throws that have the basis of using the opponent’s force against them.

That’s what they spent all of this morning doing before they took a break for lunch.  Now that they’ve finished that and the food in their stomach has settled, Castiel is ready to practice the sword with them. In recent days, a small group of servants have taken to gathering at the fence along the edge of the training field to watch. Castiel doesn’t mind it, per se, but he does find them to be a bit of a distraction for the princes.

Dean in particular seems to show off more when they have spectators. If Castiel turns his back even for a few minutes to correct Sam’s stance or even to fetch something like water drawn from the well to quench their thirst, Dean will go straight to the fence to talk with the servants. And that’s exactly how Castiel finds him today, Sam already stretching out in the sun with a book, when he returns from the storage sheds with a few training batons in hand.

Today there are only a few servants there; two women and a man who are a few years younger than Castiel. All three of them are blushing and giggling amongst themselves while Dean leans over the fence, offering them plucked wild flowers. Castiel can hear the murmur of his voice, but the words are lost to him as he returns to the area marked out for their training. A heavy weight is settling in his chest and he taps the batons against his thighs, waiting to see if Dean will notice that he has returned.

After a moment, he clears his throat and calls across the field. “Your Highness, it’s time to practice.”

He may not have been able to hear Dean’s words, but Castiel can quite clearly hear his annoyed groan. The three servants do the same and Castiel is subjected to four unhappy pouts as Dean turns around and trudges away from the fence again. It has no effect on him and Castiel matches the pouts with his frown, holding out the baton for Dean to take. He only has so much daylight to get in all their training between meals and he has _two_ princes to train.

“Why can’t we be _done_ for today, Cas?” Dean grumbles, taking the baton with a spiteful tug. “We’ve been at this all _day_.”

“How else do you expect to become skilled at the sword if you don’t _practice_?” Castiel sighs and slides into the prepared stance. Although Dean may be relatively good with the baton for his age, he has yet to actually land any kind of blow on Castiel. He has even refused to allow Dean to so much as touch a real sword with a sharpened edge until he can manage that.

Muttering under his breath, Dean raises the baton and takes the same position. Without warning, he strikes forward and it’s a simple matter to deflect the baton and tap Dean’s shoulder with the edge of his own as he side steps him.

“Don’t _lunge_ like that. Wait for your opponent to come to you.”

“But if we _both_ wait, no one will ever move!”

Castiel shakes his head and sighs. “Then you’re not understanding what I’m trying to teach you. Patience is key and that is something that you _lack_. Why else would you not wait where I told you to and instead went to go talk to those servants?”

Dean rolls his eyes and gestures for Castiel to attack him. “They come and watch us every day. There’s no harm in saying ‘hi’ and I was only flirting with them a little. You _do_ know what that is, don’t you?” He sneers the last question, but a blush tints his cheeks.

Of course he knows what flirting is – though Castiel does have trouble recognizing it. The idea of flirting has been explained to him over and over again by gossiping servants who can’t seem to stop going on at length about how big a flirt the King supposedly is. They have explained to him time and time again that his flirting wiles are the reason why he has so many lovers. _That_ is something that Castiel does not agree with, but he does not disapprove of it.

And yet, hearing that Dean is starting to flirt too makes Castiel’s chest feel a little too tight, as though he is short of breath and his ribs are squeezing around his lungs. He shakes his head and ignores the sensation, attributing it to two reasons. The first is in regards to his hard work in the hopes that Dean not turn out _completely_ like the current King. And the second being that this is something that could lead to problems in the near future that Castiel would rather they all avoid.

He chooses to address that now. “You shouldn’t be flirting with servants, my Lord.” He spares a glance to the fence and notes that the group has taken their leave. “Not only is it cruel to entertain their hopes that they might one day have a chance with the crown prince, but you are also fit to be married to Lady Lisa in a few years.”

The frown marring Dean’s lips only grows deeper and he lifts his baton to the ready position again. “Stop with the formalities, Cas. It’s just us here.” After a moment’s pause, he darts forward again, his movements more controlled and focused than last time. “And what does it matter anyways? Just because they’re servants doesn’t change that I find them attractive. I’m only _flirting_ – not inviting them back to my bed.”

Castiel should hope not. He’s far too young for that kind of activity. “They are _servants_ , Dean, and you are the _crown prince_.”

The baton vibrates in his hand from a particularly hard strike he blocks and he stops short of driving the end of it into Dean’s stomach when he doesn’t move. There’s a stubborn set to Dean’s jaw and Castiel can hear the ‘ _So what?’_ already.

He sighs and steps back into a neutral position. “Royalty does not mesh with the peasantry, Dean. You know this. You’ve been taught it since birth.”

And it’s one of the many ridiculous laws of the lowlands that Castiel continues to find increasingly limiting to the people. There are far too many rules to divide the people here into pointless classes. What good does it do to claim that someone’s lineage decides their place in life? If Castiel could, he would love to ignore the rules and let Dean pursue whomever he pleases – were he not already promised to Lisa.

Just as Castiel opens his mouth to explain this, Dean slashes angrily at the air with his baton. “Like you said; I’m marrying Lisa in a _few years_. I can still have all my fun before that!”

Castiel rubs a hand over his face and pushes the hair back off his forehead. “Then you should flirt with the nobility or, at the very least, the gentry.” His next words nearly gag him. They’re just as bad as the dividing of the classes. “And you shouldn’t flirt with boys.”

Dean’s shoulders tense and an expression Castiel can’t name flits across his face, gone before he can truly grasp what it might have been. It almost looked pained, or possibly panicked. He squares his shoulders and fixes Castiel with a daring glare. “Why not?”

“Because your _Church_ frowns upon it.” And the laws of their holy book have been branching out to control the people almost as much as the laws of the land.

With a frustrated sigh, Dean turns away sharply. He paces back and forth for a moment before he stops and points the baton at Castiel. “What do the Aladaï think of it?”

Giving no warning, Castiel jumps forward and knocks Dean’s baton aside. Before he can recover, he presses the end of it under his chin, forcing his head up and back slightly. “Never point your weapon at an opponent unless you plan to use it, Dean.” As he takes a step back, Dean’s arm drops and Castiel takes the moment to swing his baton again, stopping it short just shy of the side of his head. “And never lower your weapon in battle. Your opponent will not always be as gracious.”

A noise not unlike a growl rumbles in the back of Dean’s throat and he slaps Castiel’s baton away from his face, determination burning fiercely in his eyes. “Answer the question, Cas.”

It isn’t one that he was avoiding answering. This is still a training lesson and Castiel intends to continue training him, even through their conversations. He sighs and steps back into the ready position again, waiting for Dean to copy him. “Aladaï don’t care.” When the strike comes, he blocks and returns it in kind, inviting Dean into a series of sword strokes they’ve done before. “There are many things each person finds individually attractive, but strength is a key requirement for our partners – both in mind, body, and spirit. And it does not matter if they are man or woman. Not everyone has the same preferences, but we do not question them.”

Dean advances and Castiel gives him ground, lets him think that he’s winning. “But why don’t you care?”

“Because our core philosophy is that a person can do anything they please in their personal life as long as it does not bring harm to others.”

In one movement, Dean draws back completely and lifts his other hand in the palm out signal they use to pause the training session. Castiel immediately relaxes and stands normally. Warning flutters across the back of his mind at the curious tilt to Dean’s head and the calculating light in his eyes. He nearly drops both his jaw and his baton when Dean asks his next question.

“Does that mean that you’ve been with a man before, Cas?”

Castiel can feel colour rising on the back of his neck and he wills himself not to blush any further at such a personal question. Dean has been asking more and more of those this year – wanting to know more about his past and what it was like to grow up in the tribe lands; or confirming that he already knows Castiel’s favourite foods or favourite books to read now that he’s learned how to. Those are questions Castiel has no trouble answering because they merely send a pleasant tingle through his chest that Dean cares enough for him to want to know these things.

But as it stands, _this_ particular question is one that trips him up. Castiel is going to be entering his twenty-third year in a few moon’s time and he has not yet been with anyone. There is nothing that he finds shameful about it, but it’s not information that he likes to share. It would become gossip amongst the other staff of the castle and he would very much like to avoid being the center of that circle. He has no interest in catching the attention of any of the servants who might, possibly, consider his inexperience a challenge.

His lack of experience is attributed to many things. Primarily, he believe it is because he has not yet had that kind of attraction to another person before. Though he can acknowledge a person’s physical beauty, it does not hold much appeal to him. He sees no reason to share himself with anyone when he has no interest in them. And yet, Castiel still suffers the annoying sexual desires of his body, but he can easily tend to those himself – however unsatisfactory that ends up being. It never feels as good as he has been told it should be.

Regardless of that, this is not a conversation that he should be having with _Dean_ of all people. He would happily tell Dean all about the different views the Aladaï have on romance and sexuality, but what little of it that applies to him is nobody’s business save his own. Even just _thinking_ about speaking to Dean about that is making it all the harder not to blush.

Castiel steels himself and slides one foot back, raising the baton in the same motion. Immediately he sees frustration fill Dean’s face, but before he can demand anything, Castiel gives the only answer he can think of at the moment.

“I will answer that question when you are able to best me with the sword.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Of course not, my Lord.” He murmurs back, carefully folding the cape over his arms and not lifting his eyes to meet Dean’s. It would be considered inappropriate and he doesn’t want to inspire any other debate amongst the visitors. “But thank you. I appreciate your concern for me.”

Sometimes, Castiel dreads certain days and sometimes he does not. It depends entirely upon the mood of his princes. If they are restless and unhappy, certain days will not be as enjoyable as others. When they’re exuberant and restless, it’s slightly more enjoyable but still rather hectic for him. Usually those days will fall on a _free_ day. Today is one of those days and it walks the edge of the blade between whether or not Castiel is actually enjoying it.

A free day is a day when the princes have no lessons from him or the tutors. It is a day left entirely to them to do as they please and _usually_ Castiel will be lucky enough that they’ll want to spend it riding horses or combing through the library for new books to read. Sometimes they will even choose to go visit one of their friends and that can be a nice change. And yet, with the plethora of activities available to them, the princes have chosen to spend the majority of their day inside.

Worse yet, they have decided to devote their time to unleashing havoc upon servants and soldiers alike with trickery. They refer to it as a _prank_ – a word that Castiel has never heard before but he is told that its meaning denotes a wicked deed being done. And truly that is what the princes are doing. It almost makes Castiel regret allowing them to have this day to themselves. He could have easily arranged to give them lessons by sword, grappling, or otherwise. 

Instead, Castiel allowed them to spend the morning in the stables. Rather than give their attention to the horses, the princes had spent the time running back and forth chasing mice. Castiel had waited by the door with a wooden box covered by a lid he had stabbed some slits into. Every time one of the princes caught a mouse, they would bring it to him to put in the box.

In hindsight, he really should have asked what their plans were then. Had he known they were planning to let loose the entire box of rodents in the laundry room, he might have intervened sooner. But Castiel had been curious to see what they were planning to do. And sometimes even _he_ is bored enough to at least allow their shenanigans to continue to some extent. But he does feel a little bad for how upset the laundresses were (and still are) about the mice.

At the very least, Castiel stayed around to help clean up that particular mess. He has not seen the princes since. They took the opportunity to run off and likely put into motion other plans. Castiel is not alerted to what those might be until an irate soldier finds him in the laundry room where he is assisting with catching the mice.

“Hey, _Aladaï_.”

He looks up from dropping one struggling rodent into a crate, frowning at the use of his peoples’ name and not his own. Everyone in the castle, new or not, knows his name and his position. It’s not a difficult idea to grasp about _why_ , even after years living here, some people still insist on finding what few ways they can to be rude to him. Standing, he dusts his hands on his pants and turns to face the red-faced soldier approaching him.

“You’re in charge of the princes, aren’t you?”

“You are well aware that I am.” Castiel’s frown only gets deeper. “Is there a problem?”

“If you’re supposed to be watching the princes, _why aren’t you_?” He sneers, banging the butt of his poleax against the floor. “They’re causing mayhem all across the castle!”

Turning, Castiel gestures at the other servants who are still chasing mice back and forth while some of the laundresses stand on chairs with their skirts hiked up around their knees. “I’ve been a bit busy.” Sighing, he looks back to the soldier. It was poor judgment to allow the princes to even _start_ behaving like this today. “What else have they been getting up to?”

“ _Trip wire_.” Even Castiel winces at that and glances down at the soldier’s knees. “Yes, that’s right. They got their hands on several lengths of rope and they’ve been laying traps all around the castle. I am but _one_ of their many victims.” He points angrily toward the door. “Just follow their laughter and the groans of pain. I’m sure you’ll find them easily.”

Biting his tongue, Castiel bows tightly. “My apologies for the troubles they’ve caused. I will handle this as quickly as possible.”

His first course of action is to gather all the rope he finds in the halls. Already many have been dismantled by the other servants and that makes his task moderately easier. Or, at least it is in the beginning, until he comes across Meg. Her dress is soaked and her bonnet hangs around her throat, the curls of her dark hair flat with water.

“ _You_.” She points her finger at him as soon as he comes around the corner with his arms full of coiled rope. “What good are you?”

He groans inwardly. “They’ve moved on from the trip wire then, did they?”

“Buckets!” Meg throws her hands into the air before grabbing her wet skirts and lifting them to stop past him. “They’re trapping the doors with _buckets_ of water!”

Well, this is quickly going from amusing to exasperating. Of course Castiel feels completely responsible for this. He doesn’t often slip in his position with the princes, but he _knew_ today was going to be one of those days the moment that Dean and Sam sat through breakfast in perfect silence, somehow communicating without words. It was his own foolishness that allowed for this and now he has to clean up the messes that he’s been an unfortunate part of.

Though, truth be told, Castiel is still finding some amusement in this. The princes are happy and wherever they are in the castle they’re likely laughing and smiling. That always eases whatever ire Castiel has regarding their choices of action. Almost anything is worthwhile if it gets Dean and Sam laughing. As long as their so called _pranks_ don’t actually cause physical _harm_ to someone, Castiel doesn’t think that they’re so bad. Annoying, perhaps, but not outright hurtful to anyone. That is where Castiel would draw the line.

He turns around to look after Meg. “How are they trapping the doors?”

“ _Buckets_.” She shouts back, and that’s all the answer she gives before she turns the corner.

Leaving the rope with Ash, who happens to be the next servant he comes across, Castiel goes in search of the princes. He follows the trail of destruction, passing more than a few disgruntled servants and soldiers on his way. The story he learns as he walks is that the princes are placing buckets above partially opened doors and calling someone in to help them. _How_ they’re getting the buckets up there is beyond anyone’s understanding, but no one can take the chance to _not_ respond when a prince asks for them.

Which plays to their advantage, really, and makes this all the more difficult for word to spread that they are up to no good. Despite this not leaning in his favour, Castiel should enjoy it while he has the chance. Now that Sam is in his tenth year, it won’t be long before he starts going through the same moody phases that Dean had begun little more than a year ago. Dean still has his moments, but it’s a blessing that he is nowhere near as bad as he was when his moods had started in the winter before last.

But now that Dean is in his fourteenth year, whatever problems he had been working through before have been more or less dealt with. At least Castiel believes (hopes) that they are. Dean hasn’t come to him with any other issues recently. Of course he still appears to have some difficulties when it comes to their training – particularly with grappling – but they manage to work through those times well enough. Though Dean will still outright refuse to participate in anything whenever Castiel determines it too hot to wear a shirt while they’re training during the summer.

It’s something Dean always rebuffs. Every single one of Castiel’s attempts to try and find out exactly _why_ he takes such issue with it have thus far proven fruitless. In fact, Castiel has just stopped questioning it. Now he’s just biding his time to when Sam will be making illogical decisions too. He can’t help wondering, though, if perhaps this _pranking_ is a part of Lowlanders and their growing period.

His thoughts are still centered on that when he comes upon Miss Mills with a number of metal and wooden buckets hanging from her arms. “Where did you find those?”

“I’ve been collecting them in the aftermath.” She sighs and they clang and thump together as she shifts her weight. “The princes stole them from storage.”

“Do you know how many are still missing?”

“Only one, as far as I can tell.” Miss Mills glances down at her arms to count them. “Be careful, Castiel. Those two are being very tricky today.”

He rubs a hand over his face and sighs. “I’m aware. My apologies for letting it get this far. I should have stopped them from leaving during the mess with the mice.”

“There are two of them and one of you, Castiel. Don’t beat yourself up about it _too_ much.” She smiles softly and hefts the buckets again. “But I expect that you’ll get them back for this once you catch them?”

Castiel tilts a smile of his own at her. “I will try.” He glances up the hall in the direction that she came in. “Would you happen to know where they might have gone?” It would not be too difficult of a task to find them, but any assistance would be greatly appreciated.

Miss Mills rolls her eyes to the ceiling and stares at it while she thinks. “I’m honestly not sure if I can trust the talk through the castle, but I think – last I heard – they were seen near their bedroom? I can’t guarantee anything, but at least it’s a place you could start?”

“It is, thank you.” He bows curtly and looks down at the buckets. “Would you like any help with those?”

“I’m fine. Go stop those boys before they set something on fire for fun.”

With another bow, Castiel sprints away. It’s not very far to the princes’ bedroom, but he would like to catch up to them before they move on to another location. Thankfully, Miss Mills information proves to be true. Or at least, it does at first. The door to the princes’ bedroom _is_ opened a crack, which is at odds to how Castiel usually leaves it. During the day, when no one is in there, he keeps the doors firmly shut to discourage anyone from poking around in the princes’ belongings (and his own).

Castiel knocks shortly before he shoulders the door the rest of the way open. “My Lords, are you in –” His question never sees its end as the final bucket, a wooden one to be precise, empties itself right on top of his head.

The water is cold and soaks through his shirt instantly. After the brief, startled moment of confusion, Castiel berates himself for not knowing better. Dean and Sam’s approach had involved buckets over doorways and he quite literally walked right into the trap. He should be ashamed, but at the moment he can’t bring himself to be anything but vengeful. And the hysterical laughter filling his ears only fuels his desire for justice. The laughter cuts off the moment Castiel shakes the water from his eyes and fixes the princes with a look that promises nothing more than equivalent retribution.

Dean and Sam are sitting on Sam’s bed and they both look vaguely horrified when Castiel’s glare lands on them. With a shared look, they make the silent decision to run, springing from the bed simultaneously and bolting for the servants’ entrance hidden in the corner. Castiel springs after them and he ducks into the hidden passages moments after them – with just enough time to note that they have split up, with Sam taking the passage to the left and Dean the passage to the right.

If they think splitting up will save them for long, they are greatly mistaken. But the first to fall will be Dean. There is no doubt in Castiel’s mind that _he_ was the puppeteer behind this all. And besides, he can always get Sam later. But _Dean_ needs to pay for even entertaining the thought that he could prank _him_ and get away with it. Even with a head start, he holds no hope of outrunning Castiel.

Though Dean is light on his feet, agile at darting around obstacles, andknowledgeable of the area – Castiel is all of that _and_ he’s faster. Even Dean knows this and his best hope is to try and be just a little more cunning. He needs to _outsmart_ Castiel and even then that will be no good. Castiel is trained in the art of tracking and he’s followed more people than Dean has likely ever even _met_.

It doesn’t take long to catch up to him. Dean laughs every time he looks over his shoulder, noting that Castiel is hot on his trail. In a final bid for freedom, Dean breaks through the servants’ entrance that leads into the main hall. Little does he know, an open space is going to do him no good. Castiel will be able to catch him no matter where he goes. Even running out into the courtyard is a hopeless endeavor. Dean is barely more than a half dozen steps from the stone stairs before Castiel tackles him to the grass.

Pinning Dean is a simple task. Castiel still has almost a whole head of height on him and a decent amount of muscle mass. All he needs to do is settle his weight across Dean’s stomach and pin his wrists by his shoulders. As soon as it hits him that there is no more running, Dean’s amusement fades to something vaguely terrified. Laughter continues to bubble out of him, but he’s panting for every breath and watching Castiel with wide eyes as a flush darker than the colour from his run rises in his cheeks.

“It was a _joke_ , Cas.” Dean manages to huff out between laughs. “It was just a joke! Please –” He stutters around a giggle. “Please, Cas, don’t hurt me!”

Castiel has no intention of actually hurting him, but a certain level of revenge is required of him now. And only one option is presenting itself to him. Though he still has the possibility of _tickling_ Dean, Castiel has since learned that doing that usually leaves Dean rather upset. It ends with the same actions that follow every grappling match. But he feels like taking an eye for an eye and there is still water dripping down the back of his neck.

When Castiel leans down, Dean almost stops breathing and the smile falls from his face. Perhaps he’s truly afraid that Castiel is angry – though he feels far more amused after that chase than he had been when the bucket fell on his head. Almost when they’re nose to nose, Castiel starts shaking his head as hard as he can to spray the water still clinging to his hair. He knows it’s spraying all across Dean’s face when he starts squirming and nearly screeching with laughter.

Dean kicks his heels against the grass as he twists under Castiel in desperate attempts to break free. “Please, Cas! No, no! Cas!”

The laughter is truly worth the feeling of being silly within sight of all the stable hands and haywards and anyone else standing outside. Castiel sits back, victorious, and allows himself a matching smirk. But that slips on his lips when his heart stutters in his chest as he looks down at Dean. His green eyes are shining with amusement and a level of affection that makes Castiel’s heart feel as though it’s skipping. Strangely enough, it only inspires a pleased smiled of his own.

*

Castiel treasures his relationship with the princes. Though they are still affected by the rules of the Lowlanders that separate their classes – Castiel as nothing more than a servant and their protector and Dean and Sam as _princes_ – they are still friends. Dean and Sam tell him almost everything; what makes them happy, what makes them sad, their hopes and their aspirations. And he values every moment of it. In turn, Castiel shares with them what little he has of himself – memories of his life in the tribe lands, what he dreamed of being before he was traded here, and how those have changed.

He still misses his old life and what friends he had there. But he has almost fully adjusted to living here now. This is the closest that he has to a home and he is happy with that. The day he told that to the princes, Dean had hugged him impulsively and mumbled that he was happy to have Castiel here too. Following his lead, Sam had done the same. It was a nice moment and it’s a memory that he cherishes.

There are several like it that Castiel holds close to his heart now – including the ones where he is exasperated with the princes and won’t hesitate to reach out and smack one of them in the back of the head whenever it is rightfully deserved. He generally will refrain from doing it in front of other people, but when they have their privacy where they can be comfortable with themselves and the relationship they have settled into, none of them really mind it.

Someone else might not understand that Dean is working hard to maintain a relaxed, friendly relationship between them. Castiel is doing the same and Sam seems to be along for the ride. And through these means, with Castiel being strict when necessary and Dean’s friend when needed, as time passes he finds that Dean is growing up into a fine, respectable gentleman. But time slips from him so quickly that before Castiel even realizes it, Dean’s fifteenth birthday has come and gone and the eve of his wedding is upon them.

Already the guests have started to arrive and after an evening of greeting everyone, Dean is reaching a point where Castiel decides that it is time for him to intervene. Dean’s hands have curled into twitching fists at his sides and his smiles hold no mirth behind them. They’re strained and more an annoyed grimace than anything. Even Sam can see it and he’s been giving Castiel warning looks for a while now. If Lisa were here, she would be doing the same – but she doesn’t arrive until tomorrow.

“Pardon me, your Highness?” Castiel speaks softly just behind Dean and touches his shoulder gently during a lull in the conversation. “Tomorrow is going to be a busy day. Might I suggest that you retire early this evening? The welcoming party can carry on without you.”

At his side, Sam starts nodding enthusiastically. “I can take care of the rest, Dean. Don’t worry.” He glances at Castiel and tilts his head to Dean, a silent command that Castiel go with him.

Unsurprisingly, Dean doesn’t resist. It’s only at Castiel’s silent urging that he stops at the doors and turns back to the murmuring crowd of gathered nobles. He tilts his chin up and adopts what Castiel has come to realize is his _formal_ tone. It sounds nothing like the Dean that he has come to know.

“Thank you for taking the time out of your schedules to be here for my wedding to Lady Lisa Braeden tomorrow. If she were here, she would welcome you all the same. In preparations for tomorrow, I need to take my leave now – but my brother, Prince Samuel, will be happy to entertain you in my stead.” He bows stiffly and steps from the room before anyone can stop him.

Castiel shares a pointed look with two guards standing to the side of the room. He only needs to glance towards Sam to get across his point that they should move to stand with him. Once he is satisfied that Sam will be watched over, Castiel slips into the halls and jogs to catch up to Dean. His shoulders are still tense and he looks extremely uncomfortable. They don’t speak until they are in the privacy of the princes’ bedroom, the doors firmly shut.

“Is everything alright, Dean?”

“ _No_.” He sinks down on the edge of the bed and holds his head in his hand, his elbows resting on his knees. “They kept asking whether or not I’m excited for tomorrow.”

Carefully, Castiel sits next to him and hesitantly puts his arm around Dean’s shoulders. Physical contact has always seemed to help him in the past and Castiel is pleased that now doesn’t seem any different as Dean leans into his side with a sigh. “I don’t want tomorrow to come, Cas.”

“I thought you had come to terms with your betrothal to Lisa.”

“I _am_ fine with that.” Dean ruffles a hand through his hair before dropping his head to Castiel’s shoulder. “Lisa and I talked a lot and we’re okay with getting married now. I just don’t like how everyone else is making a big deal about it.”

After a moment, Castiel tilts his head to rest it against the top of Dean’s. A sense of calm spreads thick through his chest and he allows his eyes to slide shut. “Why is it upsetting you?”

He shrugs and sighs loudly through his nose. “I don’t know.”

“Would you like to talk about it?” It may be a pointless question. Sometimes Dean prefers shutting down and burying his emotions and his problems rather than facing them head on. Tonight, Dean surprises him.

“I don’t feel grown up enough for this.” Dean grumbles, pushing away from Castiel to stand and start pacing with his hands held behind his back. “After tomorrow, I’ll be expected to start trying to make an heir with Lisa and I don’t want a kid yet when I still feel like one myself.”

Castiel leans back on his hands and watches Dean cross the room repeatedly. “But you have grown so much since then and you only need to sire an heir _eventually_. If you’re not prepared to start as soon as you’re married, that’s perfectly acceptable and I doubt Lisa will try and push the matter. It’s _your_ marriage. Take things at your own pace.”

“I’m not worried about _that_.” Dean waves his hand as if to brush the matter off. “I told you; Lisa and I already talked about it. We know what we’re going to do. I’m more concerned about being expected to have an heir when I still have so much growing to do. I’m not even old enough for –” He stops himself short and chances a quick glance at Castiel, his mouth twisting in a frustrated frown before continuing his pacing. “I’m not _grown_ enough yet.”

He stands and places himself in front of Dean to stop him, his hands finding his shoulders automatically. Castiel has difficulty understanding what Dean is referring to. But maybe he’s focusing on one thing to distract from what he’s truly worried about. “Are you nervous about tomorrow?”

“No.” The answer is automatic, but Dean’s eyes don’t meet his. After a short pause, he sighs and his shoulders slump. “Yes? I don’t know. Everyone is going to be watching me and I can’t mess up.”

“You have no need to worry about tomorrow. You’ve been preparing for this day for the last few moons and you know the ceremony.” Castiel moves one hand to Dean’s hair, brushing it back off his forehead and gently urging him to look up at him. “You know what you need to say, what you need to do, and how you are supposed to act. You only need to get through the day and then it will be finished.” He smiles softly and squeezes Dean’s shoulder. “You _are_ prepared, Dean.”

Still, Dean groans and slumps forward until he bumps his forehead against Castiel’s chest. “Only thanks to you, Cas.” He takes a step closer and hesitates before sliding his arms around Castiel’s waist and hugging him tightly. “I’m only here because of you.”

“That’s not true, Dean.”

“It _is_. It’s not just because you’ve saved my life – and Sam’s – over and over again. But if it weren’t for you being here Cas, I might have run away _ages_ ago and taken Sam with me.” Dean rests his cheek on Castiel’s chest and every warm breath can be felt through the front of his shirt. “I haven’t thanked you yet for everything you’ve done for us, have I?”

Castiel is less liberal with his hug, but he does allow his arms to settle around Dean’s shoulders lightly. His ribs are tingling in a manner that’s both pleasant and confusing. “There is nothing to thank me for, Dean. It’s my duty to prepare you for the challenges ahead and I will continue to do so for as long as you have need of me.”

And truth be told, Castiel is rather worried that he won’t be as needed now. Dean is already fifteen. In the Lowlands he is practically considered an adult in his own right. Tomorrow afternoon, he is going to be wed and he will have a _wife_. Castiel’s knowledge about how a royal marriage works is nearly nonexistent and it’s something he will be learning as they go, but he fears that now that Dean will have a wife he will no longer require his aid with the day to day living.

Will his position be reduced to nothing more than the Dean’s protector? Will he only watch over Dean’s safety while attending solely to Sam now? As dear to his heart as Sam is, something pulls tight in his chest at the thought of Dean not needing him anymore. They have spent every day for the last seven years together and they worked so hard for this friendship – a relationship that Castiel values above all else in his life now and one that he doesn’t want to change.  

In the last fortnight, Castiel has spent much time thinking about what is going to happen after the wedding. It has brought to light some things that he has long suspected. He now knows that he does not define either the tribe lands orthe lowlands as his home. His _home_ is at Dean’s – and Sam’s – side. And it is _that_ which he fears losing most of all. With a wife at his side, and eventually the next heir to the throne too – will there no longer be room for Castiel to stand with him?

His thoughts are in turmoil, but Castiel holds his tongue. Though he is Dean’s friend, he is first and foremost Dean’s guardian, his advisor, and his servant. It is not his place to say anything about his _feelings_ , of all things. But he does tighten his arms around Dean’s shoulders and rest his chin on the top of his head. It seems to help Dean relax and he leans more of his weight into Castiel’s chest.

“Everything will be alright, Dean.”

After another deep sigh, Dean rubs his nose into the fabric over his chest. “Thanks, Cas.”

*

Castiel spends far less time in getting ready himself than he did with helping Dean into the clothing specially prepared for his wedding. Dean’s tunics are made of the softest silks and the stitched design across them is almost more detailed than some of the tapestries hanging from the walls. The thread itself glitters like gold all across his chest. It matches the simple golden circlet resting around his head. A heavy cape, edged with soft white fur and dyed red is stitched with his family crest and draped around his shoulders. It is fixed in place with a thick chain of gold, its clasps studded with precious green stones.

He looks extremely uncomfortable in the clothing, shifting in his boots made of the finest leather. Castiel would give anything for Dean to wear whatever he pleased today to make this whole ceremony easier on him, but there are _traditions_ in place and he has no power to impose on them. And his own hands are full with getting Sam into his much simpler outfit as well as ensuring that the castle’s security is near impenetrable while _also_ double checking that the attending guests have all been vetted appropriately. He wants _no_ surprises today.

It is only a short time before the ceremony when Castiel has a quick moment to change. His bath is merely a few buckets of water dumped over his head as he scrubs himself clean. He had tended to his hair and shaved the night before after the princes had settled into their beds so he would not have to waste time doing that today. The only clothing he has that is appropriate for today’s events are the coloured clothing in the style of the Aladaï that the King had gifted to him years ago. Castiel never wears them outside of the parties he is forced to attend with the princes.

Today, he wears them with a heavy heart that he chooses not to question. In light of the special occasion, Castiel also finds the box where he keeps his parents’ jewelry. Despite his sleeves, he slides the many silver bands around his wrists over top of the fabric. They still jingle on both arms whenever he moves. He wears only one of the necklaces – a heavy pendant on a thin chain. The pendant has been in his family for generations and it’s nothing more than a stone edged in black and carved to reveal the shine of a rainbow of colours hidden within it.

Dean is enthralled by the stone the moment he sees it. All sense of space is lost to them as Dean stands close enough to touch while he holds the stone in his palm, turning it over to view it from all sides. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“I’m told that it’s a form of opal.” Castiel murmurs, taking it from him gently. “It belonged to my mother and was given to her by my father when he professed his love to her and his desire to court her. Until then it had been handed down in his family for more generations than I can recall.”

“It’s beautiful, Cas.” He smiles up at him, eyes soft yet bright.

When he looks down at the stone again, Castiel can pick out the green hue of Dean’s eyes in the flecks of the stone. He murmurs his thanks before letting the pendant drop back to his chest. After clearing his throat, he ducks around Dean to lift the trail of his cape. “The ceremony is scheduled to start soon. We should make our way there now.”

Dean rolls his eyes but he squares his shoulders. “Fine. Let’s get this over with.”

Sam muffles a snort of laughter behind his hand before he falls into step next to his brother. An odd ache starts to throb low in Castiel’s chest as they leave the bedroomm. It only grows worse the closer they get to the pavilion erected on the castle grounds outside. As the ceremony begins, his whole chest feels heavy and it burns while he waits off to the side and watches as Dean and Lisa walk side by side along a path strewn with flowers and lined with royals and nobles from every kingdom that the King holds in good favour.

One of the faces of the gathered people is Gabriel. The Chieftain stands bare chested among the finely clothed guests, but he looks no less elegant. A sharp bolt of longing for his homeland drives through Castiel’s chest and he forces himself not to seek out the other Aladaï faces in the gathered forces surrounding the pavilion. It’s an easy enough task since he finds it nearly impossible to take his attention off Dean and Lisa as they reach an arc of intricately carved wood standing over an altar.

This part of the ceremony is lost on him. It’s a part of the Church and requires listening to a priest make long winded speeches quoted from their Holy Scripture. Castiel turns a deaf ear to it and he watches Dean instead. From where he is standing, he can see one side of his face. His expression never wavers, face blank and eyes empty – as though he’s letting his mind wander. But he never takes his eyes off the priest and moves without issue when he is instructed to kneel next to Lisa to bow to the altar and let the priest sprinkle their heads with supposedly blessed water.

Castiel ignores the pulsing pain behind his ribs as Dean and Lisa exchange rings. It’s such a silly practice. If you’re pledging your life to another, to live and to love them for the rest of your days, it should be represented with more than a trinket that can be easily lost. In the tribe lands, the newlyweds design a symbol to represent the merging of their bloodlines and they have it tattooed in a matching spot on their bodies where everyone will be able to see that they have sworn themselves to each other.

With the Aladaï there is no lengthy, boring ceremony that leaves the guests yawning. It is a celebration with drums and dancing and well wishes shared by everyone in the tribe. Nothing is meticulously organized and there is no need for grandeur. The _entire_ tribe is invited too – unlike here where Castiel is the only person of his status allowed to attend the ceremony. There will be several servants milling about during the following festivities, but they will be there to work and not for fun.

Finally, the ceremony is done and Dean and Lisa have both agreed to the terms of the marriage, signing a document that is nearly a _contract_. It is something Castiel finds abhorrent. There is no room for love in this wedding. He can’t even recall having heard the priest make mention of it. This is purely for politics and while his chest aches, his stomach turns at the thought that Dean might live the rest of his life married to someone he does not love – at least not in the sense that he _should_ if he is to spend the rest of his life with her.

The whole ceremony has left such a bad taste in Castiel’s mouth that he pauses in front of one of the many mirrors hanging around the grand hall to make sure that nothing of the pain rolling through him is showing on his face. He is almost surprised to find that his expression looks as though it were carved from stone; hard and emotionless. From another’s perspective, they might think that his heart is just as hard. At least they would be right in thinking that he holds no joy for his prince’s wedding day.

How can he be happy when Dean is being forced into something he does not want? How is he supposed to show delight when he knows about the fears and worries that plague Dean about his future with Lisa and the heir he might end up with before he is ready to be a father? There are too many things about this _tradition_ that is at odds with Aladaï (and his own) beliefs for him to find any happiness in it.

At least there is one benefit from his cold exterior. The guests have been giving him a wide berth – including Gabriel after he stopped for a brief chat to ensure that Castiel is still adhering to his vows of loyalty to the King. While Castiel shadows Dean around the room, never outside of his reach, the rest of the guests pay him little mind. They seem to be doing the same to Gabriel and his small party of Aladaï grouped at his sides. At least they have each other to speak with. Castiel stands in silence, only watching and listening to the conversations being had with Dean and Lisa.

Relations between the Aladaï and the Lowlanders are certainly better now that they have been trading for the better part of a decade, but the people still do not seem to mix well. Or often, for that matter. Castiel has rarely seen any Aladaï moving freely through the kingdom. Anyone who comes to the Lowlands is on business and he believes the same can be said for any Lowlanders who set foot in the tribe lands.

Though Castiel may be treated better now, there are still plenty of guests here tonight who give strange looks to him and the other Aladaï present. He has yet to decide if this is because of his odd clothing and bare feet, or the tattoos the other Aladaï have on display, or if it’s their tanned skin that stands out amongst this sea of pale faces. The Lowlanders have no trade with the people of the southern lands and Castiel can’t help but wonder how their black skin would be handled here.

The least he can be thankful for right now is that the odd looks haven’t held any outright hatred. He had not had to deal with those for quite some time up until when Dean first cut his hair. The results of that had been nearly disastrous and it’s only Dean’s stubborn declaration that he was the one who did it and it’s how he prefers it for his own safety that kept Castiel from being punished because of it. But now that he’s been doing it for over a year, no one within the castle really cares about it anymore. It’s been so long since then that Castiel has almost forgotten that there are some people – like the guests attending the wedding – who were not aware that Dean is in the practice of having his hair cut at least once every cycle of the moon.

While some of the servants still find it improper that Dean cuts his hair, no one has actually made a fuss about it. At least not until tonight.

At first, Castiel isn’t sure that anyone but him heard the whispered conversation by a few nobles waiting their turn to give their congratulations to the newlyweds. All he really catches is a few words, but it’s enough for him to know the topic of their hushed discussion is focused almost entirely on him and how much his presence is _corrupting_ the next king. All he can do is pretend he hasn’t heard them and force his hands not to curl into fists.

He isn’t expecting Dean to turn away from the noble he is speaking with to give a pointed glare to the ones in the line. His formal tone is lacking its stiffness, only to have been replaced with an anger that makes each word tremble. “If you bothered to step off your high horse and learn anything about the Aladaï, you would know that their way of life goes above and beyond their preference for work as mercenaries. It is _thanks_ to Castiel that when I take the throne I will be a better King than my father.”

Castiel only stares in silence, lips parted as if he were going to intervene. No sound comes from him, but Lisa does put her hand on Dean’s arm – though she says nothing that Castiel is expecting either. “If you can’t hold our allies is the same regard you do us, you’re welcome to leave the party and allow the rest of us to enjoy our time without your prejudices clouding the moment.”

Together, they excuse themselves from the rest of the line and Dean gestures for Castiel to follow after him. He can feel heat rising across the back of his neck and it feels like a small sun has taken residence in the place of his heart. Castiel doesn’t look back as he follows Dean and Lisa to the section of the room reserved as a dance floor, but his hands shake slightly as he undoes the clasp holding Dean’s cape to his shoulders as Lisa’s attendants removing the train of her veil.

Dean lifts his hand as if to catch Castiel’s wrist, but he stops himself before he does. His voice is a quiet whisper, barely loud enough for Castiel to hear him. “They didn’t upset you, did they, Cas?”

“Of course not, my Lord.” He murmurs back, carefully folding the cape over his arms and not lifting his eyes to meet Dean’s. It would be considered inappropriate and he doesn’t want to inspire any other debate amongst the visitors. “But thank you. I appreciate your concern for me.”

If Dean was going to say anything in return, it’s interrupted by Lisa announcing that she’s ready to dance with her new husband. The reminder of their marriage is a cascade of cold water down Castiel’s back and he excuses himself to the far edge of the dance floor where he can watch the whole crowd, and Dean, without obstruction. At least Dean and Lisa look happy. They whisper to each other and laugh while the minstrels play and they move in easy steps across the floor, though more than once Castiel catches them both sneaking glances in his direction.

For all intents and purposes, they _look_ like a happily wedded couple. And perhaps they are. Dean tells Castiel plenty, but he doesn’t tell him _everything_. Maybe the talk he mentioned last night that he had with Lisa sorted out their feelings for each other and they truly do regard one another as more than friends? That thought causes something sour and unhappy to flutter around his heart and it is just one of a number of curious, and somewhat concerning, reactions he’s had today. He takes note of it for further contemplation later and moves on from it.

The last thing Castiel wants to do now is examine any feelings that might lead his mood deeper into darkness. Already he feels like a large black cloud has decided to situate itself above his head and he would prefer that this bad mood of his, filled with feelings he has yet to identify, does not ruin Dean’s wedding day. Despite his attempts to _look_ like normal, he does not feel as though he is accomplishing exactly what he is trying to do. It is perhaps a stroke of luck that no one else attempts to approach him during the remainder of the celebrations and it is likely attributed to incorrect, though popular, assumptions regarding Castiel’s personality.  

Outside of the castle his reputation is such that most people immediately assume that he is a gruff and strict attendant. Truthfully, he does nothing to dissuade that with his constant vigilance while the princes are outside the safety of the castle. And he already has little regard for what people think of him. As long as his friends and the people he spends time with daily understand that he is not just what is seen on the surface, then Castiel is happy.

But as the party wears on, what he considered luck proves to be a distraction. Dean starts paying less attention to the goings on of the rest of the party. He glances at Castiel with increasing frequency as the evening continues, a concerned frown creasing his forehead. When Castiel notices this, he is not entirely pleased, though he is not surprised. Out of everyone here, no one knows him better than Dean does. He was raised by Castiel’s hand since he was eight years old and he knows Castiel’s kindness and his rage. Dean knows the size and shape of his heart and Castiel has no doubts that his future King is well aware of the mask he is currently trying to hide behind.

It’s possible that Sam might notice too, but he is currently engaged with several of the young ladies in attendance. But Dean – regardless of his bride’s presence at his side – continues to divide his attention. Castiel suspects that Dean knows all too well that there is no happiness behind the smiles he tries to give whenever he looks at him. The smile is a sham; a fake that he lifts in place so as not to ruin the party. And he is still wearing it even after when he leads Dean and Lisa from the main hall to their new marriage bed.

This will be the first time in the princes lives since Sam’s birth that they will be sleeping in separate rooms. Lisa had arrived today with all of her things, fully prepared to move into the castle and live out the rest of her life here. Her things had been added to the room that Castiel has had stone masons preparing for half the year already. He needed a chamber befitting of the crown prince and his future queen and it was a simple task to remodel one with a private servant’s quarters for himself, but he required a second entrance to be made from that into the next room where Sam will be sleeping from now on.

He can only hope that no one ever attempts to strike at both princes separately.  

*

“Is there anything else I can assist you with?” Castiel asks while he carefully folds Dean’s wedding clothing for storage. “There is a bell pull next to your bed that you can use to summon me in the night if you have need of me.”

He does not turn around to check if Dean heard him. Dean is somewhere behind him, pulling on his night clothes while Lisa is in a special changing room that had been prepared just for her and her ladies in waiting where they can help her in and out of her dresses. Castiel had offered to have a changing room made for Dean too, but he had refused it under the claim that he’s never needed one before.

“I’m fine for now, Cas.” He touches his shoulder to signal that he’s finished changing.

Turning, Castiel takes a deep breath to settle the sudden storm of butterflies behind his ribs at the concern written clear across Dean’s face. He forces another smile and bows slightly. “Then I will take my leave. I’ll wake you both in the morning when your baths have been prepared.”

Before he can back away, Dean catches his arm and pulls him a step closer. “ _Cas_.” The worry in his eyes only grows and he squeezes Castiel’s arm gently. “Are you alright?”

After prying Dean’s hand from his arm, Castiel bows again and quickly steps out of his reach. It takes all that he is to ignore the look Dean continues to give to him. “Of course I am, my Lord. Please have a good night and give my regards to Lady Lisa.”

As soon as the door is shut between them, Castiel slumps back against it and stares at the trunk resting at the end of his bed. All of his things had been packed into it and brought to this room today. He’s going to need to go through it all and put it out on the new shelves. There’s a mirror on the wall beside the bed and he can’t bear to look at himself. Something dark and painful is curling under his skin and he doesn’t want to see what he looks like now.

There are all sorts of thoughts clamoring for attention in his head and Castiel feels too exhausted to think of them. But his bed looks no more appealing than thinking of everything else. He rubs a hand over his face and steps away from the door to Dean’s room to check on Sam’s room. To his surprise, Sam is already under the covers and snoring into his pillow. Odd. Castiel can’t remember seeing him leave the party with them. But he’s still young and it’s no surprise that he’s tired too.

With nothing else to do or the want to do it, Castiel strips out of his formal clothing and sits on the ledge of his window. This was another important part the stone masons had to rebuild for him – though it was Dean who insisted they do it. He has made it his business to know what things make it easier for Castiel to live comfortably here and ensures that he has access to those things – be them furniture, food, clothing, or almost anything that he wishes.

As soon as Castiel lifts the gates on his thoughts, they whip through his mind like a whirlwind and he watches the horizon while he picks through them piece by piece. He opens the window and straddles the ledge to kick one leg in the open air while he thinks. Sleep evades him as he watches the moon and asks the wind why today made his heart hurt.

When he picks up that pain and examines it, Castiel delves into his memories of the day and tries to find where it started and what made it worse. He walks through his day again and the moment he comes to the ceremony and the image of Lisa in her white dress covered in frills and lace an standing at Dean’s side, it makes that pain flare at the base of his throat. It sears a bitter tang across the back of his tongue and he doesn’t understand _why_. Castiel likes Lisa. She’s been his friend for many years now and they have always gotten along well. If he had to pick someone Dean was to marry, it would be her.

And yet… the more he thinks about seeing her this evening, laughing as Dean spun her around the dance floor, the more it makes Castiel’s stomach twists with a bitter anger as his chest fills with a heavy sadness. Some part of him – the angry, illogical part of him – wants to hate her. Of course he can’t bring himself to even think that. Lisa is a very nice young woman and he cares for her quite a bit. She’s pleasant, knows how to handle Dean, and Sam likes her too. He has _no_ reason to dislike her.

It’s something that Castiel muses on all night. As the horizon starts to brighten, the wind finally brings Castiel his answer and it has him hugging a knee to his chest to rest his head against it. He is upset with Lisa for the sole fact that for every night onward, _she_ is the one who gets to sleep next to Dean. When Dean has nightmares, she will be the first at his side. When Dean is unhappy, she might very well be the person that he turns to in search of a hug to cheer him up.

She has become everything that Castiel never realized he wanted to be.

As the sun breaks over the horizon, Castiel finally understands that he’s in love with Dean.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You’re not going to help me with _my_ bath, Cas?”
> 
> The soft question brings all of Castiel’s thoughts to a shuddering stop. He lifts his head and stares at Dean, attempting to comprehend what has just been asked of him. “I – Your Highness, I haven’t helped you with that in _years_.”

Castiel faces the day with no sleep and the heavy realization that had struck him with the light of dawn. He collects his clothing for the day and slips through Sam’s room on silent feet. It is completely impossible for him to _not_ think about his revelation while he assigns additional guards to watch over their rooms. His heart feels heavier with every step he takes to the bathing chambers and he can only stop and think about it once he’s called a few servants to prepare three baths for Dean, Lisa, and Sam.

Each bath needs to be in a separate room and while those are being made ready, Castiel needs to quickly take his own before going to the kitchens to ensure their breakfasts have been started. Then he needs to go prepare the clothing for Dean and Sam while Lisa has her own servants to do that for her. After they’re woken, Castiel will escort them to the baths and help Sam wash and dress before they truly start their day. This is how their new schedule is supposed to start going, and yet…

Today he feels sluggish and weighed down with a thousand thoughts he wishes he would never have to think. There are so many parts of him experiencing different things that Castiel can’t tell what he’s truly feeling as he settles down on a stool next to a basin full of cool water. He is happy to have finally figured out _why_ his heart feels the way it does when he’s around Dean, but it is accompanied by nothing but an aching sadness that settles behind his ribs.

What is he supposed to do with this knowledge now? Castiel knows, as he wipes himself down with a cloth, that he will never be able to say anything about his feelings. And there is also no one in his life that he can tell about them. He does not wish to dwell on them and the pain that they inspire. They are feelings that Castiel is fully aware will never be reciprocated. There are just so many _reasons_ why these were doomed from the start – too many for him to want to think about and he does his best to put them out of his mind while he finishes his short bath.

Unfortunately, every one of them blindsides him when he slips into Dean and Lisa’s bedroom and draws the curtains back to fill the room with light. His heart lurches when he turns to find Dean sprawled across one side of the bed, a pillow clutched to his chest. Lisa is curled on the other side of the bed, the majority of the blankets bunched around her and leaving Dean partly exposed. There’s enough space for at least another person between them and Castiel is mildly (relieved) surprised to find them still dressed completely in their night clothes.

Taking into consideration that it was their wedding night, Castiel had expected them both to follow the Lowlander tradition of consummating the marriage. Perhaps they did and dressed themselves after? In either case, he has no desire of knowing. A sour, sick sensation slides through his stomach when Castiel thinks of Dean touching another person.

His marriage to Lisa is but one of the many reasons why Castiel has no intention of telling anyone of his feelings. Regardless of that, Dean is next in line for the throne and Castiel is nothing more than his loyal servant. By Lowlander law, their class alone would separate them. And that is not even taking into account that they are both of the same gender – as ridiculous a rule as that is. In addition, Castiel has a full ten years on Dean.

Though he can accept that the feelings he has for Dean have grown above and beyond mere friendship, Castiel is not so sure that Dean would be able to do the same. He has watched Dean grow into a fine young man – but Dean is the one who insists that he still feels as though he is not yet an adult. A queasy sensation rocks through Castiel’s chest when he thinks about how Dean would despise him for holding these feelings for someone who is little more than a child. It wouldn’t matter if Castiel told him that he has no intention of every acknowledging or acting upon how he feels for him.

It is something that he will need to bury. Maybe, in due time, he will forget these feelings. Castiel can only hope that this is true, though his chest aches as he approaches the bed and removes himself from his emotion. He was always told that when he would find someone to love, it would be as though the sun walked the Earth and nothing could compare to it. They were wrong. It was far better for him to not know these feelings.

With a gentle hand, Castiel touches Dean’s shoulder and shakes him slightly. “My Lord, it is time for you to get ready for the day.” He goes around to the other side of the bed to draw the blankets back from Lisa’s shoulders. “The same can be said for you, my Lady. The baths will soon be ready.”

In succession, they both groan and turn their faces into their pillows. Dean gropes across the bed for the blanket and rolls further onto his stomach, pulling the blanket up over his head and away from Lisa. She grumbles and attempts to do the same. Castiel shakes them both once more before he leaves them to their own devices. In the time it takes them to wake up, he rouses Sam and picks out his clothing for the day. He turns his thoughts to focus solely on the tasks at hand while he opens the wardrobes and trunks where their clothing is stored. Lisa has already been taken away by her own servants by the time he returns to collect Dean and his clothing.

He ignores the concerned frowns from both his princes as he escorts them to the bathing rooms. Of course they would be able to tell that something is not quite right with him, but it’s something he can never explain _why_. Not even Sam can know. It occurs to him as he’s hanging their clothing outside the rooms with the baths ready for them that even though it has taken him this long to figure out his own feelings, it’s possible that he’s shown it before and someone else has been able to see it. Until he is certain that he will be able to function without his feelings being obviously displayed, Castiel will need to hide _everything_.

Ensuring that his expression is blank, Castiel turns to Sam. “Would you like me to assist you with your bathing today?” He has made it habit to ask this as of late, just in case Sam ever decides that he needs his privacy like Dean once did.

Sam glances back and forth between Castiel and over his shoulder – likely at Dean. After a moment he shrugs and ducks his head. “I’ll do it on my own today.” He slips into one of the bathing rooms and firmly shuts the door behind himself.

Dean has a curious frown creasing his forehead when Castiel turns to face him. He bows stiffly and steps away. “I will leave you both in the care of the soldiers, my Lord. I have to make your beds and I would like to ensure that your breakfasts are going to be properly –”

“You’re not going to help me with _my_ bath, Cas?”

The soft question brings all of Castiel’s thoughts to a shuddering stop. He lifts his head and stares at Dean, attempting to comprehend what has just been asked of him. “I – Your Highness, I haven’t helped you with that in _years_.”

With a shrug, Dean turns away and throws open the door to his bathing chamber. “Well, I’ve changed my mind. I want you to start helping me again.”

Castiel approaches the entrance, but he goes no further. “You don’t need my help.”

“But, I _want_ it.” He turns around in front of the basin and crosses his arms. “Now come in here and help me like you’re supposed to.”

It isn’t that he is going to be seeing Dean naked that has Castiel balking from this task. Nudity was a norm for him while growing up in the tribe lands. He finds nothing about it sexual and especially not with children. When he was a child, Dean was naked a number of times in front of him. But for the last few years, Dean has been hiding himself from him and the person who undresses in front of Castiel today is a young man. He has changed a great deal and Castiel turns his back, attempting to keep his hands and his mind busy with folding the towels and checking the temperature of the water.

For their sake, it is best that Castiel does not allow his feelings for Dean to colour how sees him. It’s bad enough that Castiel has inappropriate _romantic_ feelings for his prince. In no way should he allow himself to have any _sexual_ feelings for him. Especially not while Dean is still so young. There are too many differences between them for that to be anything but a bad thing – no matter how old Dean gets. It would be no surprise if the Lowlanders have laws against age differences just as they do the fact that the both of them are _men_.

Dean is supposed to get in the bath once he has undressed, but he remains standing beside the basin with his clothing in a pile at his feet. Castiel sighs and wastes time with stacking the towels. “Your Highness, the water is going to get cold if you don’t use it soon.”

“Look at me, Cas.”

The frustration in Dean’s voice leaves no room for error and Castiel knows he is left with little choice in the matter. If he doesn’t do as Dean says, they will spend the rest of the day at odds with each other. But if he _does_ do as Dean says – Castiel is afraid that he might start to feel what he has never truly felt before. Sexual attraction would be something entirely new to him and Castiel is wary of feeling it – especially for someone he knows he’ll never be able to have.

With a sigh, Castiel turns around to face him. He keeps his eyes firmly focused on Dean’s face and he completely shuts down every possible emotion he has. It’s similar to when he is in a battle and can’t allow his feelings to colour his decisions. Even so, he’s still surprised by the dark blush filling Dean’s cheeks. He has his arms crossed tightly over his chest as he shifts from one foot to the other.

Despite that, Dean still looks overly concerned. “Are you doing alright, Cas?”

“Yes, my Lord. I’m fine.”

His answer only causes Dean’s expression to darken. “Why are you being all _formal_ again? Stop it and tell me the _truth_.”

Castiel sighs and looks away again. “I’m fine, Dean.”

He looks less than convinced. “You didn’t seem like you were _fine_ yesterday.”

A pang of worry ricochets through his chest. How obvious was he yesterday when he had no idea what his emotions truly were? Castiel turns away to hide the shame he has over being so upset yesterday that it was enough for Dean to notice. He clears his throat and turns back to the towels. “You didn’t look much better either, Dean. It was a stressful and emotional day for everyone.”

Dean’s hand closes around his elbow and he pulls Castiel around to face him. His voice is soft as he gives Castiel’s elbow a light squeeze. “You know that I’m always going to need you. Right, Cas?”

There’s something behind Dean’s eyes that Castiel can’t quite recognize. Part of it is something Castiel has been seeing in his face for years – something he’s come to associate with their friendship. But there’s something more – something _deeper_ that Castiel can’t name. Whatever it is, it makes his breath catch and he takes a deep breath to calm himself. He places a hand on Dean’s shoulder to try and guide him toward the basin.

“Of course you will, Dean.” Castiel smiles softly and waits for him to climb in before he hands him the bowl full of soap. “I doubt that you paid proper attention to any of my lessons. How else would you ever survive without me?” Of course this is not true. He could never ask for a better student than Dean.

His teasing earns him a bright, warm smile before Dean finally climbs into the tub. With an over exaggerated yawn, Dean slumps into the hot waters of the basin and spreads his arms along its edge. He glances over his shoulder, his smile turning into a wide grin. “I’m so _tired_ , Cas. Yesterday was just so _busy_.” His head hangs back over the tub’s edge. “I think you should wash my hair for me.”

Castiel drops a cloth over his face. “You’re an adult, Dean. You can do it for yourself.”

And he absolutely will take every chance to _not_ touch Dean in any form when he’s in this undressed state. Perhaps if he repeats to himself all the reasons why it’s foolish of him to be _in love_ with Dean, he will be able to overcome these feelings. It seems like that might be the easiest method. All he needs to do is remind himself that Dean is not only a Lowlander, but he is a married _man_ , and the crown prince. Dean is so far beyond Castiel’s grasp that there is little point for him to entertain any fantasies or hope that Dean will ever return his feelings.

This is a change that he had not expected to come about with Dean’s marriage. But it is just another one that he will add to his list of things to adapt to. His romantic feelings for Dean are something he can – and he _will_ – overcome.

*

In regards to their daily schedules, almost nothing has changed since Dean’s marriage. The lessons become more advanced for everyone as they turn another year older, and Castiel took over the duties of arranging for Lisa to have protection as well. He was not charged with protecting her like he does the princes, but at night she falls under his guard simply from her proximity to Dean. During the day, she attends her own lessons – including new ones that further detail what her duties will be when she becomes Queen.

When it comes to the lessons _he_ gives, Castiel had decided to take the initiative and teach Lisa how to defend herself too. She was open to the idea when Castiel suggested it not more than a few moons after their marriage, but many people had expressed how they thought it was _improper_. It is more than just that she has to train in tights and tunics like the princes, but the mere fact that the Lowlanders frown upon a woman who takes up the sword.  

Regardless of what anyone says, Lisa had her seamstress fashion clothing for her in the style of the Aladaï. The first day she walked onto the training field like that, her head held high and her hair pinned back in a braid, Castiel had never been more proud of her. She’s a fast learner and he enjoys training her just as much as he does the princes. Both of them have improved in leaps and strides since Castiel first started training them.

In his sixteenth year, Dean throws himself into his training more so than he ever has before. He builds muscle at a startling rate, changing from a lanky boy into a broad shouldered young man so quickly that Castiel can hardly believe it. All of his lessons that take place in the library are, as Dean says; “Boring beyond all sense of a doubt.” It gets to the point that Castiel suspects that Dean uses his days with his training as a _break_ from everything else in his life. He even started insisting that their sparring and practice be held separately from Sam and Lisa.

By Autumn of his sixteenth year, Dean has gotten _exceptionally_ good with the training baton. Castiel actually needs to concentrate when they spar. On the upside, because Dean has grown so much, they are able to actually grapple together. It’s easiest to do when Castiel removes himself mentally and places himself in the same state he does whenever he’s in a true battle. In that way, he doesn’t think about how it’s _Dean_ pressed against him, struggling to overpower him with any sort of hold.

Ignoring his feelings has thus far done nothing to make them stop. They continue to simmer deep in his chest, ignored but not forgotten. In fact, they only seem to _grow_ the more time that he spends with Dean. And Castiel spends day in and day out with him. He is present for almost every moment of Dean’s day. Castiel is there to see every instance of Dean’s compassion with the servants and every occasion when he _could_ be a spoiled prince and chooses instead to be a better person. He is there for every circumstance that only turns that simmer into a boil.

But nothing impresses Castiel more than when Dean fights. Since he started their lessons, Castiel has trained the princes in the Aladaï fighting styles and done his best to ensure that they are also trained in the ways of the Lowlanders. He has even gone so far as to have Knights join them in their training once in a while. Now, whenever he does that, Dean is more than capable of disarming and defeating them. Just as Castiel had hoped, Dean has developed his own techniques that are a combination of both styles. It’s enough to best the Knights, but Castiel has been fighting for longer than Dean has been alive and he is more than capable of adapting to how Dean chooses to fight.

As such, it’s more than a little surprising when, on a late Autumn afternoon, Dean manages what Sam has always claimed to be impossible. They’ve been sparring with batons for half the day when Dean twists his wrist and slides forward in the same step. The hard curve of the weapon smacks across the back of Castiel’s fingers. It catches him by surprise and the sharp sting is just enough for him to actually _drop_ his baton. For the first time in the many, _many_ , years that they have been training together, Dean has finally managed to disarm him.

No sooner has the baton left his hand does Dean drop his own. Castiel is still caught in a moment of confusion at just _how_ Dean managed to disarm him when he’s hit with another surprise. This one is just as literal. Dean throws his own baton aside, digs his toes into the ground, and launches himself at Castiel. They hit the ground together and it knocks the air from Castiel’s lungs, giving Dean just enough time to scramble into a position where he can pin him.

Once he has his senses again, Castiel determines at least four different ways that he could get out of the hold. All Dean has done is straddle Castiel’s stomach and press his weight down on his shoulders. It’s not a pin that’s meant to actually _hold_ him, but it gets the point across the Dean does not wish for Castiel to move right now. Even still, he is shocked (and extremely proud) of Dean as he stares up at him. Dean is looking down at him with a grin fit for one who has just been crowned king, though he’s still breathing hard from the exertion of the training and there is sweat beading along his hairline.

A delighted laugh bubbles out of Dean and he’s so exuberant that he’s practically glowingCastiel’s heart chooses then to remind him of his feelings, spreading them thickly through his chest with the intensity of a sunbeam.

“Now you _have_ to tell me, Cas!” Dean leans over him with another laugh.

He has no idea about what Dean could be talking about and he frowns in confusion. “Tell you what?”

That seems to drain a bit of Dean’s delight and his mouth twists into something that is part frown and part pout. Slowly, he sits back until his weight is centered completely on Castiel’s stomach. “You promised that if I ever managed to land a blow that you would tell me if you’ve ever been with a man before. I knocked your sword from your hand and now you’re supposed to tell me.”

Castiel opens his mouth, but makes no attempt to produce sound. He can feel his cheeks starting to heat up with the vague memory of that promise. It’s something that he had all but completely forgotten. With a deep breath, he attempts to gain control over his emotions again. “Oh.”

Dean crosses his arms. “I won, Cas. Now you have to tell me.”

Sighing, he covers his face with one hand for a moment as he composes himself again. “Why would you even want to know that?”

“Because you know everything about me.” He whines, jabbing Castiel in his breast bone with the end of a finger. “Or, at least, _almost_ everything. And I want to know everything about you. I _know_ you have more secrets that you’ve never shared.”

Another sigh hisses between Castiel’s lips as he lets his hand drop back to the grass. “No.”

Dean’s face twists in an angry frown and he leans over him again. “But you _promis_ –”

“I know what I promised. My answer to your question is _no_ , I have never been with a man.”

The grin that spreads across Dean’s lips this time is even more pleased than when he first pinned Castiel. He plants his hands on either side of Castiel’s head and stares down at him. “But _would_ you ever lay with a man? Have you ever been with a woman?”

Oh no. Castiel is not going to answer any more questions like that. He’s not sure he could maintain his composure if Dean insists on knowing anything more intimate than that. Without waiting for more question, he plants his feet and rolls his hips up sharply to dislodge Dean from his seat. In the same motion, Castiel twists onto his side and grabs Dean’s arms. With their positions reversed, Castiel demonstrates a proper hold and hooks his feet over Dean’s legs as he straddles his hips. He pins Dean’s wrists to the grass next to his head, almost effectively making him incapable of moving.

“Disarming me by sword is one thing, Dean. If you want me to answer any more of your questions, then you must beat me at grappling too.”

With a groan, Dean thumps his head against the ground. “That’s not fair!” His bottom lip juts out in an unhappy pout. “How come you won’t just _tell_ me?”

“This will motivate you to work harder.” He answers with a smug smile of his own.

“That is _really_ not fair.” Dean continues to whine, giving Castiel his best pout that almost resembles an upset puppy. “It took me almost four years to beat you at the sword and all I got out of it was such a small answer! The reward hardly fits the _years_ of work I put into trying to earn it.”

Castiel sighs and relinquishes his hold on Dean’s wrists to sit back over his hips. It’s true that Dean _has_ worked fairly hard to earn this relatively tiny piece of information. Of course the majority of his difficulties stemmed purely from how Castiel is simply a better swordsman than him.

As much as he would prefer that no one know this, if there is anyone here he can trust with this information, it’s Dean. “Fine. But if you want to know it, you must keep it a secret. Understood?”

“Yes, of course.” He bobs his head excitedly and props himself up on his elbows. “I won’t tell a _soul_ , Cas. I won’t tell Lisa. I won’t even tell _Sammy_.”

That is quite literally the best promise he can get from Dean. Even still, Castiel leans down until they are nearly nose to nose. He could count the freckles between Dean’s eyes for how close they are. The proximity makes Castiel’s insides flare hotly, but it’s Dean who has a blush filling his cheeks. When he opens his mouth to speak, he swallows air as Dean’s eyes briefly dart to his lips.

He steels himself with a deep breath. “If I find out that you’ve told _anyone_ , I will make things _very_ difficult for you, Dean. Am I understood?”

Dean gulps loud enough for Castiel to hear it and he nods again. “Yes, Cas.”

It still takes a great deal of focus for him to force out the answer. “I have never been with _anyone_ , whether man or woman. But I would lie with either if I ever found someone I was interested in.”

Rather than wait for Dean’s reaction, Castiel rolls away to his feet. He pats the front of his trousers to knock the dirt from them before he turns to offer Dean his hand to help him up. To his surprise, Dean is already standing and he’s close enough that their chests bump before Castiel takes a step to put some space between them. The intensity burning in Dean’s eyes is almost just as startling.

“Why?”

“Excuse me?”

Dean takes a step to fill the gap between them. “ _Why_ have you never been with anyone?”

Because he has never felt the urge to be with someone before. He never felt close enough to anyone to _want_ that with them. As of this moment, Castiel still has not had any sexual urges regarding Dean. But that could be because he is denying himself completely to keep from the temptation of possibly thinking about Dean should he take himself in hand. Even so, the only person Castiel wants – sexually or not – is a married man and the future King of a country with laws that would never allow them to be together even if he was unwed.

“If you would like an answer to _that_ question, then you will need to defeat me at hand to hand combat.” Castiel slides into a prepared stance, raising his fists. “We can start now, if you would like?”

For a moment, Dean merely stares at him. Something shutters behind his eyes and he shakes his head. “No. We’re done for today.” He turns away and breaks into a jog immediately, running back to the castle before Castiel can say anything.

His hand is shaking slightly as he runs it through his hair. Castiel takes several deep, steady breaths in an attempt to center himself again. He promised himself that he would never think of Dean like that. As much as he is failing in completely burying his feelings, he will not take that final step. He will _not_ entertain any sexual thoughts about Dean and possibly determine that he _can_ be sexually attracted to him.  That is a line he will not cross.

Already he’s struggling with trying to move past his feelings. After a year, they have only grown and every day leaves his heart aching. But he has learned to live with it and that is all that he can do.

*

Dean is spread eagle on his bed and staring at the canopy with unfocused eyes. This winter has been no colder than the others, but Dean has been even more sluggish than usual. It takes more effort than usual to get him out of bed in the morning and keep him awake throughout his lessons or even to pay attention to anything else. Like right now he has no interest in observing the game of chess Lisa and Sam are playing. It’s a rather interesting match and Castiel is more than content to kneel next to the table, watching the slow move of pieces across the board.

Castiel would be worried, but the winter months always leave Dean in this state. He does, however, keep a closer eye on him to make sure that it’s nothing worse than that. It’s not as though Dean seems truly unhappy with anything in his life and he is not actually in a bad _mood_. If this was something to be worried about, Sam and Lisa would be more concerned than they are – which is, in this case, not at all.

When a knock comes at the door, Dean sits up and watches with a curious tilt to his head as Castiel answers whoever has come to call. Meg is standing in the hall, her hands bunched in the apron covering her skirts. Her expression is drawn into a worried frown, lips pulled into a thin line. It’s a look that can only spawn worry in Castiel’s chest.

“What’s wrong?”

“All of you are being summoned to the King’s room.” She twists her apron between her fingers and shakes her head. “He is… He is not well.”

It has been nigh on a fortnight since Castiel has seen the King last. That had been when he invited the princes to dinner with him. Castiel had merely observed it from a corner of the room, but the King had not seemed ill or gave suggestion that there was anything wrong with him. Of course there have been rumours spreading back and forth throughout the castle about the King and the many lovers that he has been taking to his bed as of late. Perhaps one of them might have done something to cause him physical pain, or even poisoned him.

Dean and Sam are already pushing past Castiel within moments of Meg’s message being delivered. Lisa is much more sedate and she communicates with only a gesture of her hand for Castiel to go after the princes. She has her own servant and guard to escort her to the King’s chambers. He runs after Dean and Sam, following at their heels to the King’s bedchambers.

He hangs back next to the door while they speak with the doctors gathered at the edges of the bed. From what he can tell by the sweat on the King’s face and the hacking cough, he is clearly sick. There are poisons that could do this, but a winter chill could do the same if it gets into his lungs. Castiel’s knowledge about healing sickness is rudimentary at best. His specialty is with dealing with poisons since it is a part of all Aladaï training.

Though he finds out shortly after that meeting from the princes what is happening, the rest of the kingdom is informed the next day. The King’s illness is, at the moment, not overly severe. But because of it he is too weak to rise from his bed. Until such a time as he is unable to think properly, he has decided to continue ruling from there. If there ever comes to be a time where he cannot form proper though, then Dean will have to take over for him.

“I don’t want to.” Dean whispers as Castiel folds his tunics that night. “I’m not ready to rule the kingdom, Cas. I still have _years_ of lessons to go before that.”

“You said the same about your wedding.” He turns to face Dean and notes that the string to close the neck of his night clothes is still hanging wide open. Sighing, he steps up to him to tie it. “Look how well that has worked out. No one has pressured you to sire a child before you’re ready and aside from Lisa’s presence here, nothing else has changed.”

But Dean only shakes his head and leans forward until he can rest his forehead against Castiel’s shoulder, obscuring his attempts to tie the string. “You know that when I get crowned King you’ll have to protect me and only me, right? You’re going to need to find someone else to watch over Sam.”

He has long known this, but it still gives Castiel a pang of loss behind his ribs. Sam is a good friend and he enjoys spending time with him too. “I know, Dean.” With the tie finally finished and the collar of the night clothes pulled closed, Castiel puts his hands on Dean’s shoulders to push him back a step so he can see his face. “The King is only a little ill now. He will eventually get better, as everyone does when they are sick. Remember the colds Sam used to get? This will be just the same.” He knows his words hold maybe only a partial truth, but they are what Dean needs to hear right now. “You won’t be taking over the Kingdom for a long time yet.”

Dean looks grateful for his words and they do help him sleep that night. But neither of them expect that the ‘ _long time_ ’ would be nearly two years. The King never does get better and, over time, his sickness grows gradually worse. It’s nearly winter of Dean’s eighteenth year when the bell tolls in the tower to mark the King’s passing. Castiel is at Dean and Sam’s sides, sitting at the edge of the King’s bed when he takes his last breath.

Tears sting behind his eyes and he struggles to stay poised while they both let their sadness flow freely down their cheeks. The King, though sometimes harsh and often unable to spend time with the princes, was still a good King and Castiel counted him as a friend. If it wasn’t for the peace treaty he proposed to the Aladaï, Castiel would never have come to live in the Lowlands and he would never have met – or fallen for – Dean. And _that_ is something he will forever be grateful for, regardless of the constant ache in his heart.

A few tears of his own slip free when Sam twists in his chair and presses his face against Castiel’s stomach to muffle the sounds of his sobs. Dean remains steadfast; shoulders straight though his bottom lip is trembling. Castiel has a hand on the back of his chair and he moves it to Dean’s shoulder, squeezing to let him know that he’s there. Almost immediately, Dean covers Castiel’s hand with his own, gripping it tightly as he starts to shake with the force of containing his own sadness.

Castiel is not sure if Dean is ready to become King even though his lessons came to an end earlier this year. Dean never admits whether or not he feels prepared for it, but he still stands tall at the coronation ceremony that follows the King’s funeral. It makes use of the presence of all the gathered nobles and court already present for the passing of the King.

After the gathered servants and soldiers have knelt and sworn their fealty to their new King, Dean stands to make his statement. Castiel remains steadfast at his side where he will always have to be. He’s so absorbed with watching the crowd for any threats that he almost misses what Dean actually says.

His promises to reign as a fair and just King are lines Castiel has heard Dean practice a thousand times over during the years. It’s a speech he has had long prepared. But the final part, when he holds out his hand to his Queen and Lisa stands with him, is wholly unexpected. The announcement of Lisa’s pregnancy is like a devastating blow straight to Castiel’s chest and he fights with himself not to show it, hesitating only slightly as he claps with the rest of the congregation.

He prides himself on his attention to detail and he never once suspected that Lisa was pregnant. In fact, Dean never mentioned that he and Lisa had started trying to conceive. Castiel had dreaded the day Dean would bring it up and he’s both surprised – and more than a little hurt – that he was never told about it. Confusingly enough, he is still overjoyed for his new King and Queen while his stomach still turns on itself in a sick twist. He can feel a lump rise in his throat and if he could excuse himself, he would. But Dean’s safety comes before his own comfort and now that Dean is King, Castiel trusts no one else to keep him safe.

In the middle of the festivity that follows the announcement, Dean pulls Castiel aside. His eyes are wide and shining with breathless excitement. “You didn’t even know, did you?”

“It was quite the surprise, my King.” Castiel murmurs as he keeps his eyes lowered. In the midst of all these nobles, if he addresses Dean as anything but his title or dares to look him in the eye, it will cause a stir that his new throne does not need.

Dean almost crows with delight and he claps Castiel on the shoulder. “We actually managed to keep a secret from you! I didn’t think we’d be able to do it, but we did!”

“Yes, my Lord, you certainly did.” He dips his head in a small bow. “Please accept my congratulations to you and your Queen. I hope you have a healthy child together.”

Bouncing on his toes, Dean glances around the room before he envelopes Castiel in a hug. “I’m going to be a _father_ , Cas!” He whispers excitedly. Almost in the same breath, he steps back and all excitement has drained from his face, sliding into something similar to anxiety. “Cas, I’m going to be a _father_.”

Before Dean can succumb to his fear, Castiel risks the disapproval of the other nobles to look him in the eye as he puts his hands on his shoulders. He drops his voice into a whisper. “You’re going to do just fine, Dean.”

Swallowing visibly, Dean licks his lips and lays his hands over Castiel’s arm in turn. “You’ll be here, right? I’m going to need your help with this.”

Heat starts curling through the hurt, warming Castiel from the inside out. A smile lifts his lips and he lets his hands drop as Sam approaches them. “Of course, Dean. You and Lisa are going to raise a bright, beautiful child. I guarantee it.”

*

“Cas.”

He looks up from folding back the blankets on Dean and Lisa’s bed. “Yes?”

Dean’s fingers are fumbling with the tie of his night clothes, but his eyes are focused on him. Despite the late hour, he looks surprisingly awake and more serious than he had been just a few moments ago. “I’m King now, Cas.”

“I’m aware.” Castiel smiles and swallows around the knot in his throat that he’s had since the ceremony earlier. “There was a big party. Did you miss it?”

His joke falls flat as Dean abandons the string, leaving it in a loose and uneven bow as he crosses the room to stand before him. “You once swore fealty to my father, Cas.”

“And during your coronation I swore the same to you along with the rest of your court.”

“I couldn’t hear you.” Dean steps close enough that Castiel could almost feel the heat of his body through their clothing. He’s grown so much that now they practically stand eye to eye.

Castiel tilts his head, curious as to where Dean is going with this. “There were many other voices speaking at the same time. I’m not surprised that you were unable to single mine out.”

“Say it again.” Dean says softly, though with an intensity that sends chills across Castiel’s skin. “Swear your loyalty to me now. Promise that you’re going to stay with me.” By the end of his words, the confidence has bled from Dean’s body and he looks unsure. It’s almost as though he truly believes that Castiel is going to leave.

Even if he had not sworn his loyalty to his new King, Castiel would stay at his side for as long as Dean would have him there. Without complaint, he drops to one knee and bows his head to Dean as he rests his knuckles on the ground. Aside from a sharp intake of breath, Dean remains silent while Castiel murmurs the vows of fealty to always serve the word of his King – to always serve _Dean_. When he comes to an end, Castiel lifts his head to find Dean’s hand being held out to him. The King’s ring, marked with the emblem of the Winchester house, rests on his middle finger.

There is no hesitation with leaning forward to press a kiss to the ring. When he sits back again, Dean’s face is flushed and his lips are parted. He turns his hand over, offering it to help Castiel to his feet. As soon as he takes it, Dean closes his fingers around his hand and he doesn’t let go even when Castiel is standing again. His heart starts beating harder and faster the longer that Dean’s warm fingers stay wrapped around his own. It’s getting hard to breathe and it feels like everything in the room is coming to a standstill the longer they stare at each other.

The affection in Dean’s eyes is more than Castiel knows what to do with.

It has yet to occur to him that even though Dean has not let go of his hand, Castiel is still holding his too. They only pull apart when the door to Lisa’s changing room opens and she steps out in her own night clothes while her servants put away her dress from the day. She glances between the two of them, one eyebrow raised, and Castiel ducks around Dean to tend to the fire. With winter fast approaching and Lisa now being _pregnant_ , Castiel needs to make sure that the rooms she is in are kept especially warm.

“Did you dress yourself again, Dean?” Lisa laughs. “No wonder you’re not ready for bed yet. Here I thought you two were just being lazy.”

With the fire stoked, Castiel turns around to find Lisa fixing the tie string of Dean’s night shirt. They’re both grinning and laughing with each other. Quite suddenly, Castiel feels like he’s intruding on their moment. His King and Queen look like the happy couple they should be and he is the odd one out. This is not a place for him and he excuses himself the moment it is appropriate for him to do so, retreating back to his room to hide the queasy feeling tossing his stomach to and fro.

Any hold he thought he had on his feelings for Dean must be reinforced to withstand the pain sure to come with the birth of Dean’s _child_.

*

With a few books weighing heavy in his arms, Castiel quickly makes his way through the halls of the castle. Dean is in the process of picking through the trade agreement with the Northerners and he has need of a few books from the library. Though Castiel doesn’t enjoy leaving him alone, he had taken the task to fetch them himself rather than wait for a servant to be summoned to go and get it for them. It might also have been an excuse to see Sam and check on how his lessons are going.

On his return to the council chambers where Dean and his advisors are working, Castiel passes a guest room that should be empty. No one should be in it right now, but a heavy thump against the door catches his attention as he walks by. Castiel stops and listens, his head cocked to the side as he waits to see if perhaps it was just his ears playing tricks on him.

There’s another thump from within the room, this time farther from the door and accompanied with a giggle. Curious, Castiel puts the books down and approaches the door to take a quick look inside. As protector of the King, it is his duty to investigate strange noises. If he doesn’t, he risks the chance that someone has snuck into the castle and they could pose a threat to Dean.

When he opens the door a crack, Castiel is expecting to see anything from a few servants shirking their duties to an assassin sneaking through a window. What he _isn’t_ prepared to find is Lisa, her belly already starting to show the signs of her pregnancy, and another man. Castiel cannot place his name, but he is one he recognizes from many different parties he has been forced to attend as Dean’s aide. Lisa once introduced this other man as a longtime friend of hers, but Castiel has no time for names of various Lords and Young Masters when his focus has always been on Dean’s safety.

The giggle was made by Lisa and she throws her head back with another laugh as her _longtime friend_ lays kisses all along her throat, his hands lifting her skirts while he presses her against the wall. As quietly as he can, Castiel shuts the door and steps away. He forgets the books entirely as he strides away, a white-hot fury searing along his ribs. Even if Dean is in the middle of a meeting with his council, Castiel is going to interrupt him. Dean _needs_ to know what his pregnant Queen is getting up to behind closed doors and Castiel does not relish having to tell Dean that the child in Lisa’s belly may not be his.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All he knows is that with a few words, Dean has changed _everything_.

Castiel does his best to stamp down on his anger as he reaches the council chambers. It simmers just below his surface while he opens one of the doors and steps inside. He stays next to it, attempting not to outright _glare_ at the side of Dean’s head as he waits to be noticed. His anger is with Lisa and not Dean, but it’s a struggle not to show his rage no matter where he looks. Castiel can’t even recall the last time he was this anger.

A few of the councilors notice him and look up before Dean does. Lord Campbell clears his throat and fixes Castiel with a triumphant smirk. “Where are the documents that you were sent to fetch?” Clearly he is pleased that Castiel has apparently failed his task.

Immediately, Dean lifts his eyes from the books scattered before him. He tilts his head and frowns in concern. “Cas? What’s wrong?” If anyone in this chamber could tell that Castiel is unhappy, it would be Dean. Of course he would see the fury pulsating through every fiber of Castiel’s being with just a glance.

With a deep breath to steady his voice, Castiel gestures at the door with one hand. “Your Highness, may I please have a word with you in private?” The words still come out as though they were bitten off.

Dean walks away from the table without even excusing himself from his councilors. They share unhappy glances with each other, but say nothing as Dean ducks out through the door. Part of Castiel’s tasks are to clean up the King’s messes and as much as he dislikes the old men that form the council, he still knows that upsetting them would not be advantageous to the rest of Dean’s rule.

Despite his anger, Castiel bows stiffly. “Please forgive the interruption. The King will be back as soon as he has dealt with a problem that has come to my attention.”

He slips from the room and pulls the massive door shut behind him. Dean is waiting further down the hall at the door of a storage room. It has nothing more than extra chairs and several shelves full of boxes of candles and holders for them. As Castiel approaches, Dean goes inside and he shuts the door once Castiel has joined him. Concern is etched in every line of his young face as Castiel turns to face him and Dean reaches out to put his hands on his shoulders.

Having entered his nineteenth year not even a whole two moons ago, Dean is almost as tall as him now. He’s grown so much since Castiel first came here roughly ten years ago – in body, mind and everything that he is. Were he to have met _this_ Dean ten years ago, Castiel would not recognize him as the same child he first met. Now Dean is a King and he is expecting his firstborn – though that child may not be his. The anger flares sharply through him again and Castiel’s hands curl into trembling fists at his sides.

“What’s wrong, Cas? What happened?”

Castiel swallows around the tight anger searing his throat. “Do you know where Lisa is right now?”

Dean’s eyebrows draw together in confusion. “Her friend, Lord Marshall, is visiting with her today. She should be in his company. Did something happen to her?”

“I’m well aware of the _company_ she is in.” He hisses, pulling away from Dean to start pacing back and forth in the small space of the storage room. “But were _you_ aware that she is _more_ than merely _friends_ with Lord Marshall?”

Coming to a sharp stop, Castiel turns to Dean again fully prepared to tell him exactly what it is that he saw. His words die on his tongue before he can say them. Dean’s eyes are already wide with surprise when they certainly shouldn’t be _before_ he’s been told anything. It only takes Castiel a moment to realize _why_ he looks like that and he gapes at his King.

“You _know_.”

Dean looks away and runs a hand through his hair sheepishly. “I do. I’ve known for a long time about her and Marshall.”

Castiel doesn’t know what to say. His mouth works silently for a few moments before he finally finds his voice and his words again. “And you _let_ her? Dean, this is so unprecedented – how could you possibly –”

“I don’t _let_ her do anything, Cas.” He cuts him off with a sharp slash of his hand and a stern look. “You of all people should know, since you’re the one who _taught_ me it, that a man does not own a woman. Lisa is her own person and she can do as she wants.” Before Castiel can say anything about it, Dean continues. “Lisa and Marshall have been in love for longer than we’ve been married. I’ve known about their relationship for _years_. She and I discussed how it would affect our arranged marriage long before the wedding ever happened.”

There is only one thing that Castiel can think to say now. “But she’s your _wife_!”

“And I don’t love her!” Dean says loudly, throwing his arms out in exasperation as he turns away to take up his own pacing. “We knew that this marriage was purely political and we had no say in it. I didn’t want Lisa to be wedded to me and never be allowed to be with the person she loves, so I gave her my blessing to continue her relationship with Marshall as long as it remained hidden for the time being.”

That does nothing to dampen the anger searing through Castiel’s chest and stinging his tongue. “How are you going to continue the Winchester line if you –”

“Just because I don’t love Lisa doesn’t mean I’m incapable of consummating our marriage. Love is _entirely_ different from sex, Cas.”

“Dean!” He can feel colour fill his cheeks and Castiel turns away from him sharply. It makes him highly uncomfortable to think that they had to – they were practically _forced_ into having to have loveless sex purely to continue a line because their laws all but demand it. The Lowlanders keep finding new ways to turn his stomach and it’s all the worse that it was _Dean_ who had to do it.

“What? _You’re_ the one who brought this all up!” Dean grabs his shoulder and pulls him back to face him.

“Because I thought your _queen_ was having an _affair_!” Castiel snaps in return, jerking his shoulder out from under his hand. “I would never have said anything if I knew you were following in the footsteps of your father!”

The dark look that passes over Dean’s eyes is enough to make Castiel immediately regret his words. Dean steps into his personal space, close enough that their noses could be touching if he was any closer. “My father _loved_ my mother. He never loved her any less despite the lovers he took to his bed _after_ her death.” His voice is flat, low, and dangerous. “The entire kingdom knew that. They also know that Lisa and I were an _arranged_ marriage. No one expects us to be in love, and you should know that better than anyone. I don’t understand what your problem is with this!”

Castiel’s problem is that now he feels silly for being angry. His ego is bruised and he is rather ashamed for assuming the worst with Lisa. He’s known her half her life and he knows the kind of person that she is. It was wrong of him to automatically think that everything she was doing was behind Dean’s back. And a part of him is hurting too. Why would they have kept this from him?

Two of his concerns are things he cannot say. The third is his worry that the child Lisa is carrying is not Dean’s. _That_ is one he can address. “But the child is –”

“Mine.” Dean shakes his head and steps away. “That was the only stipulation that I had for Lisa and Marshall’s relationship. They could only be intimate with one another _after_ she was pregnant by me.”

As distasteful as that sounds to him, that certainly clears matters up. But it only serves to make Castiel feel worse for not thinking that Dean would be prepared for such an occasion. Now that he knows the true situation, Castiel looks away and lowers his head, embarrassed and guilty. Dean catches Castiel’s wrist and squeezes it tightly.

“It’s alright, Cas. I would have told you – believe me, I wanted to – but we kept this a secret because we didn’t want anyone to question if the baby was mine.” He catches his eyes with his and smiles softly. “We won’t make it public that she has a lover until well after the baby has been born to keep anyone from thinking such a thing.” His smile falls into a frown slowly. “Of course as soon as we do that, I’ll probably have all sorts of wily Ladies – maybe even Lords too – throwing themselves at me hoping my bed will be as open as my fathers was.”

When Castiel says nothing, Dean gives him another smile. “I’m not hurt by this, Cas, and neither is Lisa. She’s very happy with our arrangement. Okay?”

There is something obviously wrong with that statement. “But what about you, Dean?” He carefully extracts his wrist from Dean’s grip. It’s never a good thing to let Dean touch him for too long. It makes Castiel start feeling things he refuses to let himself feel. “Are _you_ happy?”

Dean’s happiness is paramount to him and Castiel needs to hear that he is too. But as soon as he’s asked the question, Dean’s smile slips just a little before it becomes soft and gentle. “Yes, Cas, I’m happy.”

“How?” He doesn’t understand how that’s possible. “You’re happy being in a loveless marriage knowing that your wife loves someone else and she warms their bed at night while you sleep alone?”

“My marriage isn’t loveless. I _do_ love Lisa, but not as a wife. She’s one of my best friends.” Shrugging, Dean’s smile grows. “And when have I ever, in my whole life, been alone?” He places his hands on Castiel’s shoulders and squeezes them. “I have _you_ , Cas.”

Heat pulses through Castiel’s heart and he drops his eyes, looking at the buttons sewn into the front of Dean’s tunic. “That’s not what I meant.”

Dean’s voice drops into a whisper that slides along Castiel’s spine. “I know exactly what you meant and it doesn’t change my answer any less.”

The words warm him from the inside out. This is the closest that Castiel will ever get to hearing that Dean loves him. Of course it will never be said in the same way that _he_ feels. Castiel knows that Dean loves him – but it will never be the. Dean has said that he loves Castiel in various ways and actions over the years, but it is never anything more than familial.

Any feelings that Dean has for him are likely just a byproduct of Castiel having been the one who essentially raised him since he was eight years old. And Dean was even kind hearted enough to forgive him for how horrible he was during his first few moons living here. But now that they are good friend Castiel is the only one who has allowed his feelings to move above and beyond to a realm where it is nothing but inappropriate.

Dean’s affection comes in the form of hugs and casual touches. It’s nothing that Castiel hasn’t seen him do with Sam, Lisa, or any of his other few friends. Sometimes he will compare how Dean is with him to how he observes him with anyone else, but Castiel can never tell any difference. At best, Dean’s affection is as a brother and Castiel refuses to think that it is anything else. If he allows himself to believe that he may be a special exception, he might give himself _hope_ and that would only bring him pain.

Castiel is a _servant_ and an Aladaï one at that. As proud as he if of his heritage, he knows that he would never be able to be with Dean not even just because of that. The Lowlanders and the beliefs spread by their Church and its _holy book_ frown completely on homosexual relationships. It is perfectly acceptable for Lords of the court to have affairs with _Ladies_ of the court with abandon and it doesn’t matter if anyone knows about it, but far be it if they have a relationship with another man. And it can _never_ be with someone of a lesser status because apparently that is equal to having _dirtied_ oneself.

Of course that hasn’t stopped many men and women from being lured by the attractive face of a servant. If every such an occurrence happens, it is kept as quiet as possible. The same is attempted when someone is caught with a member of the same sex. So far Castiel has never heard of anyone being punished terribly for being caught in such a predicament. A few Lords have been shunned to the point where they have been forced from their positions or shamed out of their homes to other parts of the land because of it. But no one has been outright _harmed_ for it.

And every time that he reminds himself of that, another small part of him feels like it’s dying. Castiel hates the restrictions of the Lowlanders. Sometimes, when sleep eludes him, he lays awake at night and tries to imagine what it would be like if Dean was an Aladaï too. Would Dean be open to loving him like how Castiel sometimes allows himself to wish he did? Would he be able to have all that he wants if Dean had been born a warrior instead of a prince?

His mind never fails to turn to thinking about that, no matter how hard he tries to stop it. The last few years have been nothing but difficult because of it, but Castiel thinks that he’s done well dealing with it. He had hoped that after so many years his feelings would have diminished, but when he spends every day with Dean they only seem to _grow_.

“Cas -” Dean starts and stops with a sigh. His smile turns uncertain before it slides away completely and leaves Dean bare and nervous. He takes a deep breath and his hands tighten on Castiel’s shoulders. “I mean it, you know? I don’t need anyone else because I have you.”

His heart stutters slightly at that. Castiel takes a deep breath to steady himself before he pulls Dean’s hands away and holds him by the wrist. He can’t mean that how Castiel is beginning to think he does. It hurts too much to hope. “Dean -”

“Just listen to me.” The words tremble slightly and Dean licks his lips. “Please, Cas, just listen. I - sometimes I know you better than you do. I know that no matter what I do, you’re never going to get what I’ve been trying to say without words for years unless I lay it out for you clearly.”

By the end, his voice has dropped into a whisper and Castiel’s heart has almost come to a stop. His chest suddenly feels far too small. It’s pulling tight around his lungs and he can hardly breathe. What is happening? Is Dean saying what Castiel thinks he’s saying? This can’t possibly be real. It’s not. There’s too many reasons for _why_ this isn’t possible.

Dean takes a step closer, bringing them almost chest to chest. Castiel’s breathing is coming quick and fast through his nose. Part of him wants to step away from Dean and keep as much space between them as he can. Another part of him wants to slide his grip down to hold Dean’s hands instead and close the distance. But he can’t. He’s frozen in place, unable to move as Dean brings a hand to his cheek while Castiel still holds his wrist.

A small laugh huffs past Dean’s lips and he rubs his thumb against the stubble covering Castiel’s jaw. He smiles weakly and bites his lip nervously. “This is terrifying because I’m not even sure how you really feel, but I - Cas, I -”

Castiel has never been happier in his life than he is now. And his heart has never ached more. His hands are shaking where he’s holding on to Dean and he tightens his grip to hide it. There are so many things he wants to say - so many that he wants to _do_ \- and none of it is possible for him. The reason why leaves him on a whisper.

“I’m a servant, Dean.”

“I know, but I -”

“ _Do_ you?” If he was aware of all the connotations that come with the differences in their statuses, Dean wouldn’t be saying this. He wouldn’t be _doing_ this.

Frustration twists Dean’s lips into a frown. “I’m your _King_ , Cas. Of course I know!” He jerks his other arm free and quickly catches Castiel’s wrist in his hand again. “I know that if I really wanted nothing more than your body, then I could just command you to lay with me. I know that if you denied me, I could have you punished by time in the dungeons, or a whipping, or whatever I need to get you to give me what I want. So yes, Cas, I _know_.”

Something stings behind Castiel’s eyes and in his nose. It feels like his throat is closing up and he still can’t breathe properly. All he can do is pull Dean’s hand away from his face again, but this time his fingers slide from Dean’s wrist until he’s holding his hand in a tight grip. He doesn’t want to let go, but he knows he has to. This isn’t something that can happen and Castiel needs to stop Dean while he can. But he can’t bring himself to say or do anything yet - not when it feels like his heart is breaking.

Dean’s face softens and he steps back with a sigh. “I could never do that you, Cas. You’ve been my best friend and a part of my family for years and you raised me to be better than that.”

The sincerity in his voice only shatters Castiel’s heart more. He wants – Dear Gods, does he _want_ – to stop Dean now and tell him how he truly feels, but he can’t do anything that would let Dean know that his feelings are returned in full. This is something Castiel would give anything for, and it’s something he can never have.

He swallows around the lump in his throat and shakes his head. “Dean, I’m a servant _and_ I’m an Ala-”

“I don’t care.” He takes a step back and draws both of Castiel’s hands between his own. “I don’t care about your status, Cas, or your race. I care about _you_ and I’m leaving it all to you.” Dean takes a breath to steady himself and brings Castiel’s hands to his lips to press a lingering kiss to his knuckles that leaves the skin tingling and Castiel’s heart racing. “Take as long as you need to make your decision.”

Castiel wants so badly to pull Dean to him. He wants to fold him in his arms and press all forms of kisses his mouth – to learn all the ways for how to touch and please him. If it were in his power, he would hold Dean tightly and never let him go. But Castiel can only stand there in silence as Dean lets his hands drop to hang limply at his sides. Dean gives Castiel one last hopeful look before he turns away and leaves the storage room.

He is likely returning to the council room to attend to the tasks expected of him as King. As Dean’s servant, Castiel is going to continue with his day as though nothing has happened. The documents that he abandoned by the room where Lisa and Lord Marshall were still need to be collected and brought to the council chamber. But Castiel can hardly even remember what they had been talking about mere moments before Dean took the chance to confess what Castiel has never been able to bring himself to say out loud before.

There are things to be done but all Castiel can do is lean back against the shelves behind him and fight against the forces pulling him in a hundred different directions. At this point, he would much rather be in the thick of battle, soaked with sweat and blood and brimming with the adrenaline of _living_ than being here right now with a decision in his hands that could potentially break his King. If he turns Dean down, the potential of it hurting _him_ pales in comparison to how badly it could hurt Dean. If he accepts - and Gods help him, he wants to so badly - there is so much, _too much_ , at risk.

And yet, Castiel can only wonder how long has Dean felt this way for him? He said that he’s been saying it through actions for _years_. How was he able to hide it for so long? If he was being truthful, how could Castiel have possibly missed it? He’s always been so attentive to Dean and everything that he does. It seems almost impossible that he didn’t see this before and now - now he almost doesn’t know what to do with this information.

All he knows is that with a few words, Dean has changed _everything_.

*

Dean is a far better actor than Castiel gives him credit for. He hardly looks like he’s being bothered by Castiel’s silence on the matter. But in the days that following Dean’s confession, Castiel has had an extremely difficult time with focusing on anything else. He has tried and failed to remove himself from his thoughts and focus on the many jobs he needs to do - including double checking on Sam in between chores and the errands Dean sends him on and ensuring that Lisa is comfortable. She has a handful of moons left to her pregnancy and Castiel feels like he should make it up to her for assuming the worst of her previously.

Trying to place himself in the blind focus of a battle calm does little to stop his mind from turning back to that moment in the storage room. Thinking about it keeps Castiel awake at night and the lack of sleep is making it all the more difficult to maintain his composure. Dean does little to help. It’s never been strange for them to hold each other’s gaze longer than necessary when they talk, and it is certainly something that Castiel has never truly done with anyone else or seen Dean do with others. But now he can’t help but wonder if this was another of the signs he never noticed over the years.

But now he notices _everything._ Castiel is well aware of the weight of Dean’s eyes lingering on his shoulders wherever he goes. It carries with it an air of nervous expectation – a constant silent reminder during whatever brief moments they are alone together of the answer that Castiel has yet to give. Though Dean never says a word about it, Castiel knows that he is eager to hear what his answer will be. But try as he might, he cannot think of what to say.

He can tell that Dean is waiting. Dean must be just as nervous and uncertain about this as Castiel is. If he had an answer, he would stop this uncertainty for them. Not only does it feel like he hasn’t thought everything through enough even after a handful of days have passed, he can find no time that feels appropriate to bring it up.

With Dean’s birthday little more than a moon past and Sam’s birthday just a few more away, Castiel has his hands full with planning the preparations for the party. It will be his fifteenth year and his first birthday since Dean became King. Dean wants to give Sam the best birthday possible and he’s given Castiel the task of organizing it with one specification – to include an Aladaï flair to it. He specifically said he wants it to be a ‘ _gala for the ages_ ’ and that Castiel needs to invite as many young women from other kingdoms who are of Sam’s age as he can.

Sam is almost an adult and even though he is not the next heir, he should at least start looking for a bride. And if he happens to fall for a young woman of another country, then it might strengthen the bonds between their two kingdoms. Dean is secretly hoping that Sam will show interest in someone from the Northern lands because the relationship between the Northerners and the Lowlanders has been strained since he took the throne. They apparently do not think a King as young as Dean will be able to make appropriate decisions for running a kingdom.

Even that is a strain on Castiel’s thoughts. He can’t help but worry that the Northerners might make an attempt on Dean’s life or perhaps even declare war. The last thing he wants is for Dean to have to deal with the destruction of war when he has only been on the throne for a handful of moons. It makes Sam’s birthday gala all the more important and he should be honoured to be given the chance to plan it.

But how is he supposed to focus on _anything_ when he can’t stop thinking about the choice he has to make. On one hand, if he doesn’ttell Dean about his feelings for him – How awkward will things become between them? Will Dean still want him around knowing that he doesn’t return his feelings? And on the other hand if he _does_ tell Dean how he feels for him, Castiel will have everything that he’s ever wanted and all the repercussions that go with it.

It’s so much to think about that it makes his head spin and his stomach turn.

For a fortnight, Castiel barely sleeps. Toward the end, it’s the decision he has come to that keeps him awake at night. He wants to prolong giving his answer for as long as possible, but the longer it is that he says nothing, the more tense he starts to feel and he can see the same thing happening in Dean. Even Sam and Lisa have taken notice now, giving them both curious glances at meal times while Castiel stands silent to the side as they eat.

Those are just a few of the many moments throughout the day where Dean and Castiel are not alone together. There is never a time when Castiel can say anything and he knows that it is such a sensitive matter that it can only be said when they are completely _alone_. As such, he is forced into holding on to his answer until the third moon of the year has come and gone. Castiel has to wait until a night when Lisa has slipped away to a guest room in secret to spend the night with Lord Marshall.

As their routine always goes, while Dean is changing into his night clothes, Castiel draws the curtains and checks the locks. He usually waits until Dean is in bed before he puts out the candles, puts the pan of coals under the end of the bed, and takes his leave. Tonight, he stays stoic at the edge of the mattress. Dean sits propped up against the pillows at the head of the bed and looks at Castiel expectantly, with the same bright eyes that he has every night since he made his confession. The hope on his young face, so much more mature than when Castiel first came here, is almost too much to bear.

Castiel’s fists tremble at his sides and he takes a deep breath to calm himself as his heart breaks. “My apologies, your Highness, but I cannot return your feelings.” Even though the words are true, they still feel false on his tongue and he can barely speak them around the tightness in his throat. He forces himself to move, bending forwarding in a respectful bow to hide what he hopes isn’t showing on his face. “Please accept my resignation from my position. If you would grant me your permission, I would like to return to my tribes once my affairs are in order.”

It is a sore temptation to remain bent at the waist and staring at the floor, but Castiel _needs_ to know how Dean is reacting to his words. The moment he looks up, he regrets it as his heart breaks all over again. He can see, plain as day, the shock and the hurt imbedded into Dean’s very being. The confusion is nothing more than an afterthought before Dean’s entire expression is wiped clean like the black slates of the chalk often used during his lessons.

Dean is shutting himself away completely to hide from him. It physically pains Castiel to know that his decision is hurting the one person he holds most dear. But this is for the best. It took him _days_ to come to it and as much as Castiel hates it, this is what needs to be done. He takes no pleasure in knowing that this is hurting Dean as much – if not more – then it is hurting him.

“Fine.” The one word cuts Castiel like a knife as Dean slides down in the bed and turns on his side, drawing the blanket up his shoulders. “ _Go_.”

When he bows and backs away, Castiel leaves his heart at the end of that bed.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A small frown pulls the corners of Lisa’s red painted lips down. “Is that really still home to you?”
> 
> The question catches him by surprise and Castiel can feel a frown of his own form on his face, this one in confusion. “What else would it be?”

The silence in his bedroom feels heavy and oppressive as Castiel shuts the door. Without bothering to remove his clothing or draw back the thin blanket, he lays down on his bed. He stares at the cracked arches of his ceiling and swallows against the tightness in his throat.  His nose stings and there’s a pressure behind his eyes. It’s _tears_. For the first time in a very long time, Castiel wants to _cry_.

They won’t be far off if Castiel allows himself to dwell on what just happened, but he has little choice in the matter. The silence from both Dean’s room and Sam’s leaves him with nothing else to think about – although he should have checked to ensure that Sam was asleep and his room secured too before he decided to lay down. But how is he supposed to do anything when it feels like his heart has been carved from his chest and he’s left as nothing more than the hollow form of a man?

He can’t bring himself to move and it’s only Castiel’s trust in the knight he chose to defend Sam that keeps him from getting up. Sir Robert is a veteran knight from the King’s army and he has done well as Sam’s protector in the moons since Dean’s inauguration. His record was long and impressive and Castiel had found few men who were as decorated and honoured as him.

Choosing Sir Robert had been a relatively easy decision compared to the one he had to tell Dean tonight. He has had several days to come to terms with his decision to remove himself from Dean’s life. For Dean, everything is fresh and painful. If Castiel could have, he would have preferred to spare Dean this pain. Telling him and having to hurt him like this is the hardest part of having had to make this decision.

The ache behind his ribs only grows worse when every promise he ever made to Dean comes back to him now, broken with just a handful of words. It is of little solace to him that the only one that does not truly break is his vow of fealty. Even though he will no longer be living in the kingdom, Castiel will always serve his King if anything is asked of him. If Dean had denied him his request to leave, he would stay and do as he is commanded to. If he is ever called back to the kingdom, he would do so without hesitation.

But all of it is necessary. If he keeps telling himself that, perhaps one day it will stop hurting.

It doesn’t matter that all Castiel can feel right now is pain. He can barely breathe knowing that – in just one room away – Dean is feeling so much worse than him. At the very least, Castiel is going to be leaving with the knowledge that Dean loves him. He loves and wants him, and for that very reason Castiel needs to leave. But Dean – Dean doesn’t know that his feelings are reciprocated. To him, it probably seems that Castiel is uncomfortable knowing that he has feelings for him and is leaving because of that – when that is only partly the truth.

There is simply far too much at risk for Castiel to be able to allow himself to have all that he and Dean want. No matter how much he wants to be Dean’s lover, how could he possibly do it knowing that it would jeopardize both his throne and quite possibly his life? A relationship between them would never be accepted by Dean’s people. Castiel is a man, and an Aladaï, and a _servant_. Everything that he _is_ would be considered completely unacceptable.

So many frustrations that stem from the differences between the Lowlanders and the Aladaï have bothered Castiel for years, but he has adjusted to them now. A long time ago, he might have jumped at the chance to return to his homelands. Now, he looks to his return with a heavy heart – as much as he hates to admit it. He needs to leave this world he’s known for ten years now and he doesn’t want to. More specifically, he doesn’t want to leave _Dean_.

The temptation to say yes and accept Dean’s offer had been almost too much for him. Castiel had wanted to be selfish and take everything that he’s wanted for _years_. But there is too much at stake and the moment Castiel realized that Dean’s _life_ might be at risk, his decision was made. It had taken a much longer time to figure out that the best way to keep Dean safe would be to remove himself – even though Dean has never been safer than with Castiel at his side.

It’s Dean’s stubbornness that was the deciding factor. Castiel has no doubt that he would never be able to keep his feelings from Dean forever. Eventually, he would find out. Dean must already at least suspect that Castiel returns his feelings in some form if he had managed to work up enough courage to confess. In such a case, Dean might make his proposal to be lovers again and again and again in the future. Refusing him once was almost too hard to bear. If he had to do it a second time, Castiel might not be able to do it.

Castiel rolls onto his stomach to hides his face against his pillow. No, this was the proper decision and he has never been more certain of anything before. He needs to keep reminding himself of that. As Dean’s protector, it is his duty to keep him safe. This is the decision that will keep him the safest. By removing himself from Dean’s life, he is going to be removing a temptation. He would do the same with anything or anyone else that could bring ruin to Dean’s throne.

No matter how hard this is going to be on him, or on Dean, Castiel must accept it. He still struggles with the knowledge that eventually he will never see Dean again. But time is fleeting. Eventually, he will move on. The pain will fade as it always has for every wound he has ever received. Castiel will return to the Aladaï lands and continue with his life as though he had never left. He though he will never forget Dean, he _will_ move on.

And Dean will do the same.

*

Whether he actually managed to sleep that night or not remains to be seen, but Castiel pulls himself from bed feeling as though he didn’t. As he freshens up from the bowl of water on the table under the mirror, he glances out the window to check both the time and the weather. The sun is no higher over the horizon than it usually is when he wakes to prepare the King’s day. This knowledge is firm in his mind, but Castiel still doubts it when he slips into Dean’s bedroom and takes in a sight he has never woken to before.

He comes to a surprised stop not two steps from his door on the familiar route to the bedroom door. His routine would be to go get the preparations started on breakfast before coming to wake the King, but the curtains have already been drawn back and Dean is standing at the foot of his bed, pulling his tunics over his head. An attempt has been made to arrange the bedding, but the pillows are uneven and the blankets have been thrown haphazardly over them, neither tucked in nor smoothed out. Dean’s clothing is a disaster in its own right. His tights don’t match his over-tunic and the colours of both clash with his belt. Is this what happens when Dean tries to do things on his own?

Pain slides behind Castiel’s ribs, similar to the blade of a knife. He has to force his voice to remain steady, hiding how much this hurts him. “Good morning, your Majesty.”

Dean ignores him and continues dressing himself, working at the buttons of his tunic. It’s another blade in his chest and Castiel takes a deep breath to center himself before he crosses the room to the bed, intent on fixing the attempt made.

“I can still do the duties expected of me until I leave.” Though Dean might not be responding, Castiel still feels it necessary to remind him that he isn’t leaving _today_. There is still much for him to do before he can ever allow himself to leave the kingdom.

“Don’t bother.” He huffs and grabs his belt from the bed. Dean’s voice is flat, emotionless and so very different from what Castiel is used to hearing. “I’m going to have to learn how to do it myself anyway. I might as well throw myself in headfirst.”

Castiel turns to him with a frown, fists curling at his sides. “There is no need for you to learn my tasks. I will assign the most competent of your servants to be your attendant when I’m gone.”

“I don’t want one.” Dean’s upper lip twitches back and anger starts to slip into his voice.

“Your Highness –”

With a frustrated snarl, Dean jerks his belt into a cinch though it’s off center and it’s too loose. “I said that I don’t want one, _Castiel_.” The use of his full name makes him flinch. He can’t recall the last time Dean called him by his real name – if ever. “If it’s not _you_ then I don’t want _anyone_ helping me.” He turns to Castiel with a dark glare. “You can assign all the damn guards that you want, but I’m _not_ going to take another attendant.”

The anger in Dean’s voice doesn’t match the hurt in his eyes and Castiel finds it hard to meet them. He chooses instead to look at his hands as he pulls a matching outfit from the storage trunk at the end of the bed. “A King needs a personal attendant, my Lord, if only to help him choose matching attire.”

“Then _stay_.” Dean’s voice breaks and he grabs Castiel by the elbow, pulling him around to face him regardless of the tunics in his hands. The hurt is no longer just in his eyes. “I won’t ask anything of you like that again. I promise, Cas – please –”

Castiel had thought that Dean might do this. A large part of him wants to renege his decision, but he knows that it would make no difference. He carefully pulls his arm from Dean’s and hands him the tunics and belt to match his stockings. “I’ve made my decision. I will stay in the Kingdom until Sam’s birthday.” Turning his back, Castiel starts folding Dean’s nightclothes. “If you don’t want another personal attendant, then I will make sure that there is a competent servant readily available to you without being at your side at all times.”

Dean steps in front of Castiel again, trying to force his attention back on him. “Cas, _please_ just –”

“You left the decision to me and this is what I have chosen.” He shakes his head and continues looking at his hands. If he looks up now and sees Dean’s heartbreak to match the desperation in his voice, he might break too. “One day, I’m sure you will understand why this is necessary.”

It’s not even necessary to look at Dean to know when he closes himself off again. Every movement Castiel sees him make from the corner of his eye is sharp and angry as he rips off his clothing to change into the new outfit. But even after that, his belt is lopsided and he barely holds still while Castiel fixes it. The moment he steps back, Dean brushes past him to fumble with opening the lock. He shoves the heavy door out of the way and leaves the room before Castiel has even finished putting the other clothing away.

To his surprise, when he catches up to him Castiel finds that Dean is heading _away_ from the dining hall. Is he going to skip his breakfast? That won’t be good for his stomach or his mind. A decent breakfast will wake him better than anything. Worry pinches tightly behind his ribs and Castiel follows just to see where Dean is going. It is little relief that Dean goes straight to the council chambers and drops into his chair, dragging his work from the previous day closer.

Castiel refrains from following Dean into the room, choosing instead to carefully close the door and wave down a few knights to station them outside the chambers. Even if Dean has upset the beginning of his schedule, Castiel will not allow it to affect the rest of his morning. Not only does he have his own breakfast to eat – something Castiel doubts he will be able to stomach – but there are plenty of other things that he needs to do. And he can’t forget that he is in charge of arranging the meals for both Sam and Lisa as well.

Just as he expected, Castiel can barely eat more than the piece of bread and a slice of cheese that usually accompanies his bowl of porridge. The food sits heavy like a stone in his stomach and he has to force himself to try Dean’s food before he sends it off to the council chamber. He tries Lisa’s and Sam’s breakfasts too before he escorts it out to the dining hall where they’re both already waiting. It’s just as difficult to look unaffected by this morning and last night’s events while putting out their dishes as it was to force himself to swallow his food.

Sam shares a worried look with Lisa before he gestures at his brother’s empty chair. “Where’s Dean?”

“This morning he has decided to take his breakfast in the council chambers.” It isn’t quite a lie, but Castiel has no guarantee that Dean will actually eat. “He sends his regrets that he won’t be joining you this morning.”

“You’re lying.” Lisa crosses her arms and leans back in her chair to glare at him. “You never meet our eyes when you’re lying. Where is Dean?”

Castiel ducks his head, shamefaced. It wasn’t _that_ much of a lie. If Dean was in his right mind at the moment, he likely would have said something similar. “He never sent his regrets, but I _did_ send his breakfast to him in the council room. He is – not himself this morning.”

“Is he alright?”

Sam is already pushing away from the table, but Castiel puts his hand on the back of his chair to keep him in place. “He’s fine physically, but perhaps not emotionally.” As much as he would prefer _not_ telling them what transpired last night, they will find out soon enough. Castiel braces himself for their reactions. “The King is not in the best of moods at the moment since I – Last night I resigned from my position and I will be returning to my homeland after your birthday party.”

Regardless of Castiel’s hand on his chair, Sam still shoves it back and jumps to his feet. “ _What_? Cas, you can’t – why would you –” His voice cracks with surprise and he grabs Castiel’s shoulders with both hands. “What about – _Why_?”

“A choice was given to me and I have chosen to return to my homeland.” Even though it is necessary for them to know that, Castiel refuses to tell them about Dean’s confession. He has no idea if they know about how he feelings for him, but for Dean’s sake Castiel will exercise discretion. “It was not the decision that his Majesty was hoping for and now he is sulking.” That might be a harsh word to use, but it is all that he can think to say.

“But we – But you –” Sam can’t seem to form proper sentences and his round face is beginning to turn red. Tears are starting to gather in the corners of his eyes and he squeezes Castiel’s shoulders tightly. “You’re not even saying his _name_.”

Castiel carefully removes his hands and steps out of Sam’s reach. “I will continue serving my King and his kingdom until after your birthday. It will take those moons to find and train my replacements.” He guides Sam back into his seat and takes a step away from the table. “Please accept my apologies for starting your day with this news.”

Lisa says nothing. She only looks at Castiel with a thoughtful, sad stare. Sam is unable to look at him, staring down at his food and doing his best not to sniffle. Castiel’s heart twists in his chest. If he didn’t absolutely _need_ to start distancing himself from everyone he cares for now, he wouldn’t hesitate to pull Sam to him in a hug. Instead, he bows and excuses himself quietly, trying not to leave the silence in the room too quickly.

For a moment he stands in the hall at a loss for what to do. Castiel _knows_ what needs to be done – he needs to be at Dean’s side and be useful. But the ache in his chest is spreading through his body and he wants to do nothing more than lay down in his bed and pull the blanket over his head. If he was a weaker man, he might. There are too many things to do to prepare for Sam’s birthday and his own departure to allow for time to be depressed.

Gathering what shreds of himself that he can, Castiel forces himself to return to the council chambers. Unsurprisingly, Dean’s food has thus far remained untouched next to him. He doesn’t even bother to look up or acknowledge that he is no longer alone when Castiel slips into the room on silent feet, even though he _knows_ that Dean is aware that he is there. When Dean is hungry, he will eat. There is nothing that Castiel can do now to get him to do it – short of changing his decision. And that is something he cannot do at any cost.

He settles in the corner at a small table set aside for him to do his own work in between whatever tasks Dean and the councillors ask of him. There are sheets and rolls of paper scattered across its surface, bearing numbers and hastily scratched notes as Castiel tries to plan something special for Sam’s coming of age party. But even staring at the papers does nothing to focus his mind on what he needs to do. The air in the room is awkward and distracting – a tangible force pressing in on him from all sides.

Even still, the weight in his chest where his heart once stood is so much worse.

*

Castiel has difficulty deciding if it’s a good thing or not that he still has his list of the Knights he had been considering as protectors for Sam before he decided on Sir Robert. It may make things far easier for him to find a replacement, but he had been hoping that it would take longer to find someone to train. Of course Castiel would only pick the top candidates from his list, but none of them are as good as Sir Robert. They’re close, but Castiel wants only the best to stand at Dean’s side. But in the end it would make little difference because Castiel also knows that no one man, no matter how decorated, will be able to defend Dean as well as he does.

Which is why, after days of deliberating, he decides on _three_ of the candidates from his list. The first is Sir Benedict (who apparently refuses to go by his given name and prefers to be called Benny). He may be younger than Sir Robert, but he is strong and fast and one of the better fighters that Castiel had seen when he observed the Knights during their training. The other two are the Aladaï warriors that had been first traded with him. They aren’t as good as him, but they’ll do when paired together.

He has considered choosing one of them when he first needed to pick someone for Sam, but Sir Robert was already well known to them as someone who once protected the old King. Sam was pleased with the choice and Castiel would prefer not to change anything else for him again. His pending departure and Dean’s moodiness about it is change enough for Sam right now. Dean’s reclusive moods aren’t helping much in that matter either. He’s all but completely distanced himself from everyone, including Sam and Lisa, and _especially_ Castiel.

Dean’s decision to throw himself completely into the politics of the council leaves Castiel with plenty of spare time to spar with his three replacements to gauge their abilities. The Aladaï may not need the training like Sir Benny does, but it’s something to fill Castiel’s time and distract his mind from thinking about how Dean is taking this all. It’s extremely worrying and is essentially the only thing that Castiel can think about when he’s alone at night.

During the many, many days before Sam’s birthday, Dean barely speaks to him at all. Castiel hates leaving him under watch of other guards while he trains his replacements, but it’s necessary. It will help them both to adjust when Castiel leaves for good. Putting this distance between them now will make it easier later. Though that does little to change how much it hurts to be all but completely ignored.

When they’re together, Dean barely acknowledges Castiel’s presence. At least, he doesn’t do it to Castiel’s face, but he can feel Dean’s eyes on him whenever his back is turned. He’ll listen and respond most times when he’s addressed, but it’s just as formal as Castiel is forcing himself to be. Every time he has to stop himself from saying Dean’s name, the place where his heart once was aches. Pain squeezes tightly inside his chest every time he recognizes a moment in his day as one where Dean would once have tried to spend it with him. Dean has even completely stopped their training.

He doesn’t want to admit it out loud, because this is everything he expected to happen when he made his decision, but Castiel feels lonely. Sam can hound him for answers all he wants, but without Dean at his side it feels like there is a void in his life and he hasn’t even left yet. Having Sam with him whenever he’s not in lessons or being trained in combat by Sir Robert is of little comfort, though it is most definitely appreciated – even if Sam spends most of that time demanding to find out _why_ he’s leaving, or trying to convince him to stay.

For Dean’s sake, Castiel refuses to say anything. Dean has done nothing more than announce Castiel’s resignation. If even _he_ provides no reason why, then neither will Castiel. He suspects that Dean’s silence to his family, at least, is due to his wounded ego. But that is only because Castiel doesn’t know if Dean ever told Sam or Lisa about his feelings. As far as he is concerned, this is a private matter between him and Dean – and the last thing Dean’s throne needs is for the court to start gossiping about the possibility of the King holding inappropriate affections for a _male Aladaï servant_.

Of course, the entire castle was talking about Castiel’s departure within moments of Dean’s announcement. Everyone is confused, many are curious, and some are actually happy for him to finally leave – even though they’re people that Castiel has rarely ever spoken to. None of it matters though. The only thing that Castiel cares about is how _Dean_ feels about this. And he already knows how much it’s upsetting him. He knows and it’s a growing pain in his chest with every day that passes.

*

“Castiel.”

He looks up from the final plans for Sam’s birthday, painstakingly written out for Dean to go over before they’re put into motion for the party. The last person he expected to be approached by is Lord Campbell. They’ve been at odds since Castiel first arrived and for Lord Campbell to come to him of his own will without Dean in the room – it is nothing short of surprising.

“Lord Campbell.” Castiel stands at attention for propriety’s sake but keeps his voice soft to match Lord Campbell’s, as though their conversation is a secret. “What can I do for you?” He spares a glance at the door to an adjoining room full of all forms of scrolls where he can see Dean crouched in front of some shelves, a scroll spread over his knees as he all but glares at it, clearly having not overheard them.

To his surprise, the councillor shifts uncomfortably on his feet and looks at Dean too before he leans in. “Are you leaving because of anything that the council has done? We can tell that this is affecting the King negatively and we are... _worried_.”

It’s no surprise that even the councillors, in all their fussy ways, have noticed that things are not right with Dean. The air between him and Castiel is nothing but awkward and their interactions are stiff at best. Anyone unfortunate enough to be caught in the same room as them is subjected to it.

Castiel shakes his head and takes his seat again. “I’m leaving _for_ the King. I have analyzed the situation and it is best for his Highness that I take my leave.”

Lord Campbell looks less than convinced. “Are you certain? He clearly isn’t taking this well.” He clears his throat and shifts uncomfortably again. “As much as the rest of the councillors and I have disliked having Aladaï presence in our lands, we can acknowledge that you have been a positive influence on our young King. Is there nothing we can do to convince you to stay?”

“I have never been more certain about anything in my life.” He looks down at his papers and picks up the quill again, dipping the tip in the ink pot. “Our King, our Queen, and our Prince have been unable to persuade me – there is no conceivable chance that you could either. My apologies, Lord Campbell, but this is for the continued safety of his throne.”

It’s a tad surprising that Lord Campbell doesn’t press for more, but he retreats when Dean returns to the room with an armful of scrolls to dump across the table. Castiel watches him for a moment and decides that there is one thing that he _is_ more confidnet about than the choice he’s made to return to his homeland. His feelings for Dean are far more certain than anything else in his life, and of course he can never say a word about them. Absolutely _no one_ can ever know about how he feels. It would only complicate matters.

It’s a secret that he plans to carry to his grave and one that weighs heavy on his mind at all hours of the day. That, in combination with everything else, gives Castiel quite a bit of trouble with sleeping at night. At first, he spent most of his time staring at the ceiling and drowning in the sea of sadness that has settled in his mind. But there were only a few nights where he could tolerate doing that before he needed something to keep himself busy until he could fall asleep.

At first Castiel turned to reading. But after that, he decided to put his sleepless time to better use and prepare a present for Dean and Lisa’s unborn child. He may not be here for the child’s birth, but he can either leave the gift or send it with Gabriel when he is invited to the inevitable party to celebrate their arrival. Unfortunately, the gift that Castiel chooses to make is one that he has never made before and it requires quite a bit of practice.

The gift itself is a hand sewn doll that would amount to little more than a children’s toy in the Lowlands. In Aladaï culture, it is much more than that. The symbols stitched into the doll’s body are supposed to ward off bad spirits and bring good luck to the child who holds it. Since it has such importance, Castiel had chosen to practice the stitching of both the shape of the body and the symbols themselves before he makes the one that will be the gift.

There is a spare piece of cloth tucked under his pillow covered with his practice. He’s folded the edges together to practice turning it into a small sack. The edges will need to be stitched together so tightly that the sand he will be filling the doll with won’t escape. It’s difficult and the calluses on his fingers have given way under the point of a needle more than once, but it will be worth it. At the very least, it’s enough to keep him busy while his broken heart keeps him awake.

*

Sam looks entirely uninterested with having to choose his outfit for his birthday party tomorrow. His full attention is on Castiel, but not on the many tunics that he holds up for him to see. Dean is already in bed and Sam should be too, but he had specifically requested that Castiel help him pick out an outfit _now_ instead of tomorrow morning like he was planning on doing.

Right now, Castiel could be working on the doll or at least be making sure that his belongings are fully and properly packed. The party is tomorrow and the morning following is when he will be leaving the kingdom. Dean’s new guards are as ready as they’re ever going to be. They know the King’s schedule and all the servants have been alerted of Castiel’s departure to prepare them for taking over the rest of his tasks. It took a long time to get everyone ready and it feels like that time has passed too quickly.

Castiel has been preparing himself for it, but he doesn’t feel as though he’s ready. The end came far too soon for his liking. Even with Sam’s clothing in his hands, he can still hardly concentrate on trying to get him to pick an outfit. After tomorrow, he won’t be standing in this room again. He likely won’t be seeing Sam again and he won’t be around to know what kind of man he’ll become. He won’t know what Dean’s child will be like, or the kind of father Dean will be. There are so many things that Castiel will be missing now that he’s leaving and each is a regret that stings like an arrow.

But he can’t allow those thoughts to stop him. Not now. Not ever. “Please, my Lord, you need to pick an outfit for tomorrow.”

Sam only tilts his head and blows his bangs out of his eyes. “Did you get me a gift for my birthday?”

That’s a ridiculous question. Castiel has gotten Sam something for every single one of his birthdays. And this one is the most special of all. For the last few years, specifically during the winter months, Castiel has been working on writing a book filled with all the Aladaï stories he told Sam, Dean, and Lisa when they were children. He wanted it to be done for Sam’s coming of age birthday and he’s thankful that the timing works out.

“Of course I did.”

“Oh.” He looks down at the floor for a moment before sliding from the bed. “I want something else too, Cas.” Sam reaches out to put a hand on Castiel’s arm, eyes wide and pleading. “As an early birthday gift to me, could you stay? Don’t leave after tomorrow.”

His words pull at Castiel’s heart and he hates having to shake his head and make Sam’s sad eyes even sadder. “I’m sorry, your Highness. I can’t do that.”

“Then at least tell me _why_. Or call me by my name? Please?” He squeezes Castiel’s arm before he drops his hand, disappointment spreading across his face even before he’s received an answer. “You’re never going to tell me, are you? You and Dean are just going to keep it all a secret from me forever.”

“This is what needs to be done.” Castiel says softly, looking down at the clothes in his hands. It’s a blessing that Sam is enough of a friend that he hasn’t yet _commanded_ Castiel to tell him why he’s leaving. “I’m sorry, Sam.”

With a sigh, Sam steps away. “I’ll wear the red ones. You can go now, Cas.”

He quickly puts away everything that doesn’t go with Sam’s red outfit for tomorrow before he excuses himself and bows from the room. Castiel hates being a disappointment to those he has considered as both friend and family over the last several years – and worse yet, he despises being the cause of their sadness. But there is nothing that can be done. Dean needs to be kept safe and Castiel’s presence will only jeopardize it.

As he settles into bed, intent on actually _sleeping_ tonight, Castiel tries very hard to keep himself from thinking about anything other than that tomorrow is going to be a very busy day. And he certainly isn’t wrong in that regard. There is very little time for thinking of anything else right from the moment that he gets up that morning to thankfully clear skies.

His Aladaï flair on the party was to hold it outside under tents erected on tall poles. Anything more would have been pushing what the Lowlanders are comfortable with, even though Castiel had sincerely considered hiring drum players from his homelands. The music alone would have sent everyone into a tizzy and he would rather avoid a scene on Sam’s most important of birthdays. After all, the focus is supposed to be on him and not the party itself.

In between making sure that the tents are still standing and the decorations are secured, Castiel also rushes back and forth across the party grounds herding the soldiers and Knights who will be standing guard over the attendants. He’s already gone over the attendance list and he trusts that the servants who will be admitting everyone through the castle gates won’t allow in anyone who isn’t on it. In addition to those tasks, Castiel also tends to both Dean _and_ Sam, helping them get ready in their finest attire for the party.

Castiel has yet to decide whether or not he’s pleased that Dean’s new guards take over his tasks today. It certainly makes things easier for him to go about on party business. There’s so much to do and the longer that the day wears on, the more Castiel finds himself in awe of how there are people on the castle staff who do this regularly without complaint. He would prefer a good fist fight to the stress of organizing and hosting a party.

It certainly is of no help that Dean won’t even _look_ at him, let alone speak to him, whenever Castiel stops by the place he’s taken up at one of the tables to ensure that he’s having a good time. Whether or not Dean enjoyed himself remains to be seen, but Castiel does catch glimpses of him chatting with Lisa and Sam at random points throughout the evening.

By the end of the night, after the socializing and the speeches and the dancing is done, Castiel is too exhausted to think of anything else as he drops into his bed at night. He’s asleep before he can remember what the morning is going to bring.

*

The first thought that hits him the moment he opens his eyes is that this is the last time he will wake to that ceiling. That was the last night he would spend in this bed and he sits up, letting the blanket fall from his shoulders to pool in his lap. Slowly, he looks around the room for what will be the last time. Without his meager possessions on the shelves and walls, the room feels bare and as empty as he does.

Everything that Castiel owns has been carefully packed into the bag tied to a wooden frame, supported by a shelf at its base. It was always personal preference (and not a little bit of Aladaï philosophy) to never own more than he could carry should he ever have to pack up and leave at a moment’s notice. All he has doesn’t amount to much; just a few changes of clothing, some personal items that he’s had his whole life, and various gifts that he’s received during his years here in the Lowlands.

The addition of all those gifts, primarily from Sam and Dean (and something he could not bring himself to part with), had actually forced Castiel to adjust both the bag and the frame. He had to move the shelf on the frame closer to the bottom rather than the middle where it usually sits, leaving room for his bedroll to be tied underneath it. Now the bedroll is going to have to sit on top of the bag – which was changed out for a bigger one than he used to use previously to accommodate all his extra items.

It’s not much to most, but Castiel has treasured every scrap of scroll that Sam and Dean have drawn on and given to him at the end of lessons. There are a few small wood carvings of animals that Dean has gifted to him, and a piece of embroidering on a scrap of fabric not much bigger than his hand that Lisa had made for him when she was first learning how to embroider. It depicts her interpretation of Aïnkin and Kuïn, although they look like little more than blobs of brown with streaks of green coming from their heads. Her attempt was touching and Castiel can’t bear to part with it any more than he can anything else.

Each item in his bag weighs on his mind as he pulls his clothing on and makes his bed for the last time. They slow his hands as he double checks that there is enough space at the top of his bag for a little bit of food to take with him. All he really needs is a skin of water at his hip and a loaf of bread, perhaps some cheese and some fruit. Anything else he can hunt as he walks and he can drink from any stream.

The sun is above the horizon when Castiel even allows himself to look at the door to Dean’s room. He’s not sure if Dean is awake, or if another servant has already helped him. For all he knows, Dean is waiting for him to come and say goodbye. Part of him wants to check, and part of him wants to leave without another word. He can’t decide which of those two options is the most painful. No. Castiel can’t leave without seeing him at least one last time.

His heart sinks when he opens the door to find that Dean is not in his room. Instead, it’s Sam sitting on the edge of the bed, his eyes red rimmed. He presses his lips together into a thin line before he stands up. “He didn’t –”

“It’s alright.” Castiel forces a smile to hide the hurt slicing through his chest. “I understand.” Of course Dean wouldn’t want to see him off. It was foolish of him to think that he would want to see him off after the tension between them since his confession and the pain that Castiel has caused him.

Sam follows Castiel in silence as he shoulders the frame of his pack and carries it to the kitchen. A few of the other servants murmur their goodbyes while Castiel manages to choke down part of his bowl of porridge. He needs to at least make himself eat something for the energy to walk the distance he’s going to have to travel today. To be fair, there are more people saying goodbye than he thought there would be, but it does little to warm the winter-like freeze settled in his chest.

“You really won’t stay?” The question from Sam is quiet and almost pitiful as Castiel picks up his pack again, this time sliding both his arms through both shoulder straps.

He only has one answer to give. “I’m afraid not.” No matter how much he wishes he could.

They continue to the main hall in silence where Castiel is surprised to find Lisa waiting for them. Her eyes are just as red as Sam’s, but she holds her head high like a true Queen. She slips her arm around Castiel’s, squeezing it tightly as she walks beside him. As grateful as he is to have her go with them to the castle gates, all he can notice is that Dean isn’t here. Is he really going to let Castiel leave without even a goodbye? Or another attempt to try and stop him? It’s not that Castiel _wants_ him to do it, but the pain only grows worse with every step he takes.

When they reach the gate, Lisa pulls him into a hug made awkward by her well rounded belly and the pack on Castiel’s back. “Are you sure you won’t take a horse? It will be you at least a fortnight to walk to the Aladaï lands from here.”

“Thank you for your concern.” He murmurs, stepping back only for Sam to hug him tightly and hide his face against his chest. Castiel returns the hug just as tightly. “Right now, I prefer to walk. I need to be alone for a while before I can fully adjust to being home again.” The real truth is that Castiel wants to have as much time as possible to himself. He needs the time to get himself and his emotions under control before he reaches the Aladaï lands – otherwise, he might be obvious enough to be questioned.

A small frown pulls the corners of Lisa’s red painted lips down. “Is that really still home to you?”

The question catches him by surprise and Castiel can feel a frown of his own form on his face, this one in confusion. “What else would it be?”

Between the two of them, Lisa and Sam share an unhappy look, but they don’t say anything. Slowly, Sam steps away to stand at Lisa’s side and they link their arms much as Lisa had with Castiel. It’s as though they’re holding on to each other for solidarity in this time of parting and Castiel wishes, almost desperately, that he could have the same. But he has no one and nothing. He’s removing himself from the only people who have ever shown him the measure of affection he has become accustomed too and it is something that will be sorely missed.

“So, this is goodbye then?” Lisa asks, her voice trembling slightly.

“In a moment.” He really should not stay around much longer. If Dean does show himself, Castiel might never be able to leave. But there is something that he still needs to do.

Sam received his birthday gift from Castiel yesterday, amongst the many others that the guests had brought for him. Castiel has no gift for Lisa; the doll still not quite finished. He will have to send it with Gabriel when he is invited to the child’s welcoming. But there is a gift for Dean tied up in a drawstring bag sitting in the pouch that Castiel wears at his hip. Carefully, he takes it out and buttons the pouch shut again before he hands the bag to Lisa.

Inside the bag is a box, and inside the box is Castiel’s opal necklace – the very one that had once belonged to both his parents respectively. He can think of no one else he would rather give it to than Dean. “When the King accepts that what I’m doing is necessary, please give him this.”

Neither of them makes the promise not to open it, but Castiel has little care for who knows what is inside and he trusts no one more than Lisa and Sam to hold on to it in the meantime. For all anyone will know, the necklace is simply a gift that he is giving to a longtime friend to ease the burden of his departure. To Dean it might hold a different significance – if he remembers what Castiel once told him about its origins.

Castiel can’t resist looking back toward the castle one last time. From where he stands, he can easily pick out the windows of the council chambers. Today is proving to be bright with nary a cloud in the sky, but each window is curtained off and dark. If Dean is there, and Castiel suspects he is, than he truly is shutting himself away from today. But for how long? It will always be a nagging question in Castiel’s mind concerning just how long Dean will take to recover from his leaving – even if he’s known for a few moons now.

“He was going to make you one of his councilors.” Sam’s soft words draw Castiel’s attention back to him and he finds him looking toward the castle too. “Dean wanted you to learn how to read and write because he was planning on making you a councilor as soon as he could after he became King.” He looks to Castiel slowly, hope at war with sadness on his face. “He never wanted you to stay a servant.”

What is he supposed to say to that? A large part of Castiel wants to be happy that Dean was planning on raising his status, but another part of him knows that it would be just another effort in futility. It would change nothing between them. No matter how hot his face begins to feel or how tight his chest gets at this news, even if Castiel’s status was changed, he would still be a man and he would still be an Aladaï. As such, Castiel has no answer for Sam’s news.

“Thank you for all that you have done for me.” Castiel bows to them both. “I will never forget my time here, and I will never forget you. Please give the King my regards.”

Before anything more can be said to delay his departure, Castiel turns away. If he doesn’t leave now, he may never and that is not something he can risk. But every step that carries him away from the castle gates and through the surrounding city only increases the unease brewing in his stomach. There is nothing about this that he likes. His decision to leave is a bitter taste on his tongue. But he is doing this for Dean’s safety – even if that means that he will no longer be guarding him. Dean is left in the hands of three very capable fighters and Castiel can only hope that they will be enough to protect him.  

*

By the time Castiel reaches the outskirts of his home camp, his heartbreak has left him numb and his doll for Dean and Lisa’s unborn child has been finished. The fortnight of walking has made his feet sore, but it has cleared his mind. He will always love Dean, and this decision will always pain him, but he has done what was right – what was _best_. Castiel has done all that he can to try and convince himself of this over the last few moons and during the several days that he was walking.

The majority of the walk was actually devoted to trying to figure out a way to tell the Chieftain why, after over ten years of service in the Lowlands, he is returning to the Aladaï lands without warning. Whatever idea that he came up with flies right out of his head the moment that he realizes Gabriel himself is sitting at the edge of the camp, almost as though he were waiting for him. A falcon is perched on his knee and tearing at a strip of dried meat he holds between his fingers. Tied to the falcon’s leg is a thin tube – the kind used to hold a tiny scroll with a message.

When Gabriel looks up to see him, he lets the falcon have the rest of the meat before he shoos it from his knee. Without question, the bird takes flight, its powerful wings beating sharply to carry it above and past Castiel. It’s heading back the way that he just came and Castiel turns to watch it go.

“I was sent word of your return.” Gabriel explains, stretching as he stands. “King Winchester wanted to be informed when you arrived safely.”

That numb burn in Castiel’s chest only gets worse as he does his best to not feel anything with this news. “That’s very kind of him.”

After a moment of silence, Gabriel turns a curious and calculating eye to him. “I never expected to see you returning, Castiel. You seemed very comfortable there the last I saw of you.”

“I did enjoy my time in the Lowlands.” He shrugs off his pack and rolls his shoulders once the weight has been dropped. “But I chose to return to my homeland when my services were no longer required.” It’s a blatant lie, but it was all Castiel could think of telling him aside from letting Gabriel know about Dean’s feelings. If he ever mentioned that a choice was given to him, Gabriel would never let him get away without telling him what he was allowed to choose between.

But Gabriel remains silent, his stare all too knowing for Castiel’s liking. Eventually, he shrugs and turns back to the path that cuts into the camp. “Welcome back, I suppose.” He gestures for Castiel to follow him. “You’re going to have to prove that you haven’t gone soft in the years that you’ve been gone before I can allow your commander to send you on missions again.”

“Of course, sir.” He expected nothing less.

“Good. Now let’s find you a place to set up a tent.”

Gabriel must be bored to be dealing with such trivial things as helping Castiel get settled amongst the Aladaï again. The antics he used to get up to with his boredom were a common enough occurrence before Castiel left and he would not be surprised if they’ve continued for all the years that he’s been gone. In any case, it isn’t something to question and Castiel follows obediently.

As he walks through the camp, Castiel looks around at the faces that were once familiar to him and he glances out past the edges of the camp at the rolling plains and the forests scattered across it. But no matter where he looks, he can’t help but wonder why something doesn’t feel right. Being back in the camp certainly makes him feel nostalgic, but there is something about it – something that feels _off_ – and he can’t quite place his finger on it.

It’s not until he’s in the process of setting up his tent, the supplies taken from the storage sheds shared by the camp, that he truly realizes what is wrong.

The camp doesn’t feel like _home_ anymore.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I assume that I’m going to need a very good reason as for why you’re not going to be with me when I go to the big party.” He slants a knowing smile at him that has a chill chasing itself down Castiel’s spine. “The King will probably be hoping for you to come along. Unless, of course, you left on a sour note. But you would have told me about that if that were the case. What better excuse could I have than you being away on a mission that could potentially have you gone for the rest of the season if not longer?”

Castiel’s return to the daily life of an Aladaï camp was not as smooth as he had hoped it would be. He has all but completely forgotten the subtleties to the ins and outs of their lives. And his muscles have _definitely_ forgotten the things like the tribe’s early morning run to the nearest river before the sun has truly risen with a pack on his back filled with the necessities for building a temporary fire to cook their breakfasts as they bathe. And following that there is the long walk back that never follows the same path more than a few days in a row. During the walk, man and woman alike hunt and gather herbs.

Once they return to the camp, that’s when the _true_ training begins. Anyone who is purely a warrior will spend the day sparing everyone and anyone they can. The warriors break off into groups – sometimes specific to their division, sometimes spread throughout the camp – and train with each other. They share new moves that they’ve learned through travel or they experiment with ones that they came up with themselves, or simply practice. Some train for endurance and run circles around the camp for as long as possible, or they work specifically with grappling or weapons. Others will train their mind, and there will be several games of strategy found throughout the camp, played in tents or in the sunlight.

The craftspeople work in the shade of trees and tents. They are often warriors incapable of fighting any longer, with a crippled or missing limb. For those who are both warrior and craftsperson, they have to work doubly hard – keeping up their strength and their training while still smithing or sewing or weaving. Castiel has been gone for ten years and he’s struggling to keep up with only the training, he can hardly understand how they manage to do all that they do.

After ten years away from this rigorous daily training, Castiel is extremely rusty. Far more than he had thought he would be. From the day of his return, he struggles with keeping up with everyone else and proving that he hasn’t ‘ _lost his touch_ ’ as some seem to think he has. If he was no longer an effective fighter, he would not have been able to protect Dean for as long, nor as well, as he did. The difficulty he has shows that he _did_ grow at least a little soft in the Lowlands, but it is only because his duties kept him from getting the necessary time for the demanding daily training that he has grown up with.

But no matter how difficult it is to adjust to being here again, Castiel is grateful for it. The effort it takes keeps his days busy and it leaves him too tired at night to do much else besides drop onto his bedroll to sleep. It’s a good routine and it makes it hard for him to have the time to dwell on the hollow space in his chest and how much he misses everyone in the Lowlands. Training is a wonderful distraction and he throws himself into it completely.

In such a way, another fortnight passes without him realizing it. It’s almost been a full moon cycle since he left the kingdom, but it’s still a surprise when the falcon arrives carrying news of the birth of the crown prince; Benjamin. Castiel feels like all the air has been pulled from his lungs as he stands with the rest of the camp, listening to Gabriel read the message about how Benjamin is a healthy baby and how overjoyed the King and Queen are that he was delivered without issue. And yet, Castiel is caught between being happy for Dean and Lisa, and the sharp stab of pain in his chest when he remembers the promise he broke to be there to help Dean with his newborn son.  

The message is also an invitation to Gabriel and his personal attendants or guards to attend the ceremony where Benjamin is to be welcomed into the world. As soon as he reads that part of the message, Gabriel looks up, his eyes quickly scanning the crowd. Castiel looks to the ground. Hopefully that will be enough for Gabriel to know not to select him as one of those who will be accompanying him to the Lowlands. Going back little more than a moon later would defeat the purpose of leaving.

Before Gabriel can say anything about how everyone in the tribe is expected to contribute a few coins of gold, silver, or even a handful of bronze pennies – whatever they can spare – as a gift to the new prince, Castiel slips from the crowd. He needs to get the doll from his possessions. Any enthusiasm he had for continuing his training today has dried up and he wants nothing more than to stay in his tent and suffer in silence. Not even training is going to be able to stop him from thinking about this broken promise and wondering how Dean is handling being a _father_ now.

He isn’t expecting Gabriel to arrive at his tent before he’s managed to convince himself to get up from his bedroll and find a patch of sand. The doll still needs to be filled and he has to place a gold piece inside as a symbol of good fortune. It’s the very least that he can do – though it would have been nice if he could give the gift in person. He’s staring at the doll when the curtain covering the entrance to his tent is brushed aside and Gabriel walks in without even bothering to announce that he was there.

“I’m going to hazard the guess that you’re going to decline if I ask you to come with me.” Gabriel crosses his arms and raises an eyebrow at him. “How right am I?”

“I would prefer to stay here.” Castiel murmurs, averting his eyes to the doll again. “I don’t think my commander is going to let me go on any missions until she is satisfied that I can fight properly. I need to work hard on that and leaving would only make that more difficult.”

Humming under his breath, Gabriel crosses the small tent to drop down next to him. “I just received a notice from a baron in the southern lands. Apparently he wants ten warriors to pad the ranks of his troops until he’s won a skirmish he’s having with a neighboring barony.” He waits for Castiel to look up from the doll before continuing. “I can have your commander send you, if you’d like?”

“But I’m not prepared yet.”

“You’ve been working hard at the King’s side for years. You’re ready for a battle.” Gabriel shrugs and leans back on his hands. “You can consider the mission to be part of your training, though this actually stands a chance of death. But if you want it, I can overrule your commander.”

A mission would be extremely distracting, but there is still something nagging at the back of Castiel’s mind. “But _why_?”

“I assume that I’m going to need a very good reason as for why you’re not going to be with me when I go to the big party.” He slants a knowing smile at him that has a chill chasing itself down Castiel’s spine. “The King will probably be hoping for you to come along. Unless, of course, you left on a sour note. But you would have told me about that if that were the case. What better excuse could I have than you being away on a mission that could potentially have you gone for the rest of the season if not longer?”

Castiel ducks his head and turns the empty doll over in his hands. “I appreciate that. Thank you.”

“Is that for the new prince?” Gabriel glances down too. “Are you going to ask me to deliver it specifically to the King and Queen with your regards?”

“If it’s not too much trouble.” His stomach turns slightly with the worry that Gabriel might refuse to do it unless he accompanies him.

Gabriel sighs and gets to his feet again, stopping to stretch his arms above his head. “I leave in the morning. Make sure you have it finished by then.”

Nodding, Castiel gets to his feet too. He takes with him his kit with needle and thread, and a single gold coin. Unfortunately, the walk to the river doesn’t do anything to help clear his mind. All he can think of is how excited Dean had been when he made the announcement at his coronation ceremony, and the promise that Castiel had made that night to be there for him when he becomes a father. He loathes himself for having to break that promise, no matter how necessary it was.

How long is it going to be before everything stops hurting? It’s been _moons_ since he resolved himself to leave. He had the whole spring season to adjust and prepare himself, but it clearly did not work. Even though he hasn’t been back in the Aladaï lands for very long, it still feels as though he left Dean and the Lowlands behind much longer than merely _one_ moon ago. Castiel knows why, but he doesn’t particularly enjoy thinking about that either.

While he fills the doll with sand and slips the coin in too, he wishes he could be the one to tuck it into the Prince’s bassinette. He would get to meet Dean’s child and see Dean again – and _that_ is something that Cas wants so badly that it _hurts_. At this point in time, kneeling in the sand and staring at a nearly finished doll, Castiel wants nothing more than to be a part of their lives and share in their joy. And it’s something he can never have. He had to give it all up to keep Dean and his throne safe.

If only it didn’t hurt so much.

Watching Gabriel ride away with the doll tucked safely in one of his saddle bags the next morning is more painful than Castiel cares to admit. He finds little solace in the fact that on the same day he and nine others are given their orders to leave. By the afternoon, their bags are packed, their tents have been stored in the seasonal sheds, and they have left the camp for the long trek to take them halfway across the country.

It’s generally frowned upon to take personal items on missions, but Castiel cannot bring himself to part with anything he brought with him from the Lowlands. If he left them at the camp, he would need to entrust it all to another member of the tribe to carry when they move to the southern lands – if he’s gone long enough to miss the migration. Castiel would rather suffer the lecture he would get if anyone knew that he was bringing everything than to leave them behind.

Those possessions are all he has left of the people he loves.

*

Returning to the camp holds no special meaning for Castiel. Autumn is coming to a close and already the winter winds are whipping across the land. Notice had come to them not long before their contract with the barony had finished that the tribe was already moving to their winter home in the southern lands. The notice made little difference to them. The walk to the winter camp is just as long and just as boring.

In the moons spent serving next to his fellow Aladaï in the baronial army, Castiel has gotten no closer to them than he had been prior to leaving the camp in the first place. To him, they are merely faces and names. He has no desire to find out anything more about them than he already knows. Doing so would just bring them closer. They would become _friends_ and he has no wish to maintain relationships wlike that with anyone now or in the near future.

How can he be a friend when he feels like he is nothing more than a hollow shell of a man?

The weight on Castiel's shoulders hasn't changed over the course of the summer. He may carry new scars from every fight he had while serving in the small baronial army, but none of them matter to him. Even the handful of feathers he'll receive for completing this mission mean nothing to him. They'll be placed over the scars from his whipping and eventually, if he continues taking missions, his wings will finally be filled out.

All the other Aladaï his age have full or nearly full wings. His aren't even half full. It's a sting to his pride and Castiel wants to fill his time with mission after mission to catch up and distract his mind. Maybe, if he does that, he can stop himself from ever having to think about the family he left behind and wondering how Dean is handling having a son, or even what Benjamin is like.

When they walk into the camp, Castiel's first task is to report to his commander. From her, he receives his pay – a pouch of assorted coin. The rest of the day is his own to do with as he wishes before training begins again tomorrow. First and foremost, Castiel needs to find space in the barracks for himself. Even the southern lands don't escape a cool wind during the winter. The Aladaï spend the cold season in structures of various sizes made of wood where any holes packed with mud, and the entire hut is covered in layers of fabric that have been routinely rubbed down with animal fat to make them resistant to water. Families have small huts of their own and everyone else lives in long, low buildings with their bedrolls lined up side by side.

While he spreads his bedroll in an empty space, Castiel contemplates whether or not he should visit Gabriel. He has a clawing need to know what Dean and Lisa thought of his gift for Benjamin – or if Gabriel had even said that it was from him. He wants to know if Gabriel took note of how Dean was doing, and if the guards watching him now are doing a good job – even if all that information would be a whole season old.

Before he can make his decision, a conversation between two warriors patching their clothing a few beds away catches his attention. It brings his own thoughts to a shuddering halt and his focus narrows completely on those two voices.

“The traders came back from the Lowlands the other day. Have you heard what they've been saying?” One of them asks, his voice low enough that it is almost lost in the murmur of other voices in the barracks. Castiel barely catches all that he says.

The other warrior hums quietly in thought while she carefully watches the stitches she makes in the hem of her pants. “About the King?”

“They talk about little else.” He mutters, shaking his shirt out to check the stitches. “That's all I ever hear about from the Lowlands now.” His voice adopts a mocking tone. "The King is doing _this_ , the King is doing _that_ , did you know that _this_ has been happening to the _King_?” A loud sigh escapes him and his companion laughs. After a pause, he keeps talking. “I've been tracking how many times they've said he's been attacked. Would you care to guess how many it’s been?”

She shrugs and huffs another small laugh. “Do you mean before or after Castiel left?”

A chill runs down Castiel's spine and he lifts his head to stare at them, waiting for and fearing the answer. He doesn't have long to wait. “ _After_ , of course. No one was stupid enough to attack while Castiel was there. Since he left, everyone with the guts to try and take down a _King_ has come out of the woodwork to try their hand.”

Before he realizes it, Castiel is on his feet and standing over them. His breaths are coming hard and fast, punching out of him as though he had spent all morning running. There is only one question on his tongue. “Has he been injured? Is De– Is the King alright?”

Both warriors look up in surprise, neither having noticed that he was here. They share a surprised look before the first warrior shakes his head. “Not to my knowledge. He has _two_ Aladaï protecting him now and they’ve been doing well enough, I think. From what I heard, he's safe but it's been a stressful time since you left because there are all these new attacks, and then he had his first son, and the alliance with the Northerners has started to crumble.”

This is surprising – though somewhat expected – news. It's surprising in that Castiel hasn't heard about any of it before now. Even though he spent the last season down here in the southern lands, something like that should have reached him in the baronial army. But it didn't and Castiel's first impulse is to return to Dean's side to make sure that he's properly safe. Two Aladaï should be more than enough to protect him, Sir Benny aside, but Castiel still struggles with thinking that anyone else will do as good a job as he did. None of them care for Dean like he does – like he _did_.

He excuses himself from the pair of warriors with an apology for interrupting. His legs feel weak under him as he returns to his bedroll, hands shaking while he arranges his belongings against the wall at the head of his bed. Castiel shouldn't worry. There are _three_ guards on Dean. Three is plenty, and two of them are Aladaï. He needs to trust in them. That was why they were chosen.

So, why does he have the nagging feeling at the back of his mind that they won't be enough?

*

He ignores the first few times his name is called, trying to keep his focus as a flurry of punches are thrown in his direction. Castiel's moccasins slide back in the dirt under his feet as he avoids the first and blocks the rest. One of his legs snaps up and out, the flat of the top of his foot catching his opponent, Uriel, in the ribs. While sparring they're supposed to hold back and he pulls the kick at the last moment, delivering only a fraction of the damage it usually would have.

“I believe someone is calling for you.” Uriel hisses, staggering back a step.

“Let them.” Castiel darts forward, pivoting into a spin to add momentum into his next kick.

It knocks Uriel to the ground even though he brings his arms up to block it. With a huff, he sits in the dirt and glares up at him. “It's Gabriel's attendant. You really shouldn't be making him wait.”

Sighing, Castiel swipes the sweat from his brow with the sleeve of his shirt and turns to find Samandriel standing at the end of the sparing circle. He's a young warrior the same age as Sam, though he stands shorter than Castiel’s memory of the Prince. Samandriel is shifting his weight from foot to foot, looking increasingly agitated, though he relaxes slightly when he sees Castiel's attention is on him at last.

He sprints out to the center of the ring, eyes wide and voice breathless. “The Chieftain is summoning you to his hut. You should – you should really go. Right away.”

“I will. Thank you.” Castiel strides past him without another word.

If Gabriel is summoning him specifically, it must be something important. He has no idea what it could be about. They haven't spoken yet in the handful of days since Castiel came back from his mission, though he's wanted to. It's possible that Gabriel has just been busy since Castiel came back and only now does he have the time to talk. Gabriel could be calling him now with a message from Sam or Lisa (or _Dean_ ) regarding the doll. Or he might have a story to share about how the party went or how Benjamin was when he saw him.

The more Castiel thinks about it as he crosses the camp, weaving between the buildings, the more excited he gets. It would be highly unlikely that anyone in the Lowlands would use Gabriel, the _Chieftain_ , as a messenger for him. Still, the possibility only hastens his steps. In a matter of moments, he finds himself outside the hut the Chieftain has claimed as his own, the entrance covered by a thick blanket to keep the wind out.

To his surprise, and his horror, two familiar faces stand to either side of the entrance. They are faces that should not be here in the camp, though they are Aladaï and this was once their home. Castiel stops short the moment he sees them and stares at the two Aladaï he had left to guard over Dean. They both stand at attention, vigil and attentive to anyone who passes by. Castiel's stomach sinks as his throat grows tight and it becomes difficult to breathe as he realizes _why_ they’re here.

Samandriel slips past Castiel, having followed at his heels, and pushes the blanket aside. “Sir, I've brought him. Should I send him in?”

The answer must be a 'yes', though Castiel doesn’t hear it. Samandriel steps to the side, one arm holding the blanket out of the way as he gestures for Castiel to go in. This is bad. This is _very_ bad. Castiel knows what – _who –_ is waiting for him inside. He can see Sir Benny standing in view of the entrance from where he is. If he needed any more proof, that is it. Dean is inside and Castiel can't do it. No matter how badly he wants to see Dean – every fiber of his being trying to pull him forward – he knows that he shouldn’t. Seeing Dean again will only make this harder.

But he has been summoned by his Chieftain to an audience with an allied King. To ignore such a summons would be foolish and detrimental to all the hard work he’s put in over the last several moons to be accepted here in the camp again. Steeling himself and squaring his shoulders, Castiel slips through the entrance way with his head held high. For the first time in moons, it feels like his heart is beating again when he looks to the far side of the hut and sees Dean seated on a plush pillow next to the mound that Gabriel usually sprawls in. His heart beats and it _hurts_ , a staccato pain pulsing in an erratic rhythm behind his ribs.

When entering the Chieftain's residence, there are certain formalities that should be observed. Before Castiel can do any of them, Dean is on his feet and crossing the small hut. Castiel notes a thousand and one things about him in that short span of time. Each thought flickers through his mind and he does his best not to let a single thing show on his face as it does.

Dean hasn't grown much in their time apart, but he is most certainly a little taller. Castiel remembers that Dean wasn't quite eye to eye with him before and now they are nearly even in height. The biggest difference is that Dean is paler, though it’s difficult to see in his face now that it is covered in a scruffy, short beard. He must not have gotten as much sun this summer as he used to. And the most troublingly thing he notes is that Dean looks thinner than he did earlier in the year. Has he not been eating properly? That only increases Castiel’s worry.

Lastly, his eyes are drawn to the pendant hanging around Dean's throat and bouncing against the chainmail resting across his shoulders. This is the first that Castiel has ever seen him wearing chainmail, or the rough brown doublet over the tight trousers of a Knight. Even the leather wrapped vambraces on his forearms are an interesting item to see him in. The clothes Dean wears today are fit for a fighter, not a King, and Castiel wonders if it was Sir Benny or one of the Aladaï who decided that he should wear it during his travels. Dean even has a sword hanging from the studded belt around his hips and Castiel can only hope that Dean has continued his training and knows how to wield it properly.

But the opal of the pendant is all the more distracting as it stands out against his outfit and Castiel can hardly pull his eyes from it. How long has Dean had it? When did Sam and Lisa give it to him? Does he wear it only as a memento from him, or does he wear it knowing that it was the only way Castiel could ever tell him of his feelings. Either way, it’s all Castiel can do to hold his ground instead of backing away – or worse yet, pulling Dean to him.

All he can do is stare at the barely contained rage and confusion vibrating through Dean’s frame as he stops almost just before he runs into Castiel. Dean’s hands twitch as though he wants to reach for him. Instead, they ball into fists as he hisses a handful of words that feel like a punch to Castiel’s stomach just from hearing the rough cadence of his voice again.

“You said _can’t_. Not _don’t_.”

After how long they’ve been apart, Castiel had hoped that if they ever saw each other again, their first words to one another would be different. As such, he is left with nothing but confusion. Dean is practically nose to nose with him, but Castiel neither moves nor reacts. No matter how surprised he is to see Dean here; no matter how happy he is to see him again – feeling more complete in this moment than he has for moons; no matter how much it hurts that Dean is here, there is etiquette that still needs to be observed.

Castiel cannot allow Dean’s unexpected visit to throw him off. He is in the presence of both the King he swore fealty to and his Chieftain. There are rules to follow and he can feel Gabriel’s scrutiny burrowing into the side of his head. Even though it will only infuriate Dean more, Castiel refrains from answering. He takes a step back and drops to one knee, bowing his head out of respect as he presses his knuckles to the floor. Now he needs to wait.

Dean makes a frustrated, unhappy noise. “What in the hell are you doing?”

“He’s waiting for permission like the good little warrior that he is.” Gabriel drawls, stretching out more across the pillows he has long since dubbed his ‘ _throne_ ’. “You may speak, Castiel.”

As he stands, Castiel catches the quick glare that Dean throws over his shoulder. Obviously he didn’t like the _little warrior_ comment any more than Castiel did. But Gabriel has always thrown around compliments hidden behind a teasing barb and Castiel brushes it off as he bows slightly to him. “Thank you, sir.” He turns back to Dean and the frustration clear on his face. “I’m sorry, your Majesty, but I don’t know what you’re talking about. May I ask why you’re here?”

Surprisingly, a bitter laugh is his answer. Dean turns away sharply and walks over to Sir Benny. “Wait outside.” When Sir Benny opens his mouth, either to agree or object, Dean gestures over his shoulder. “I’ve got Castiel _and_ the Chieftain with me. Nothing is going to happen.”

He doesn’t exactly look pleased with it, but Sir Benny merely sighs and nods. After a quick bow, and a cautious glance at the two of them, Sir Benny ducks out of the hut. Samandriel does the same after a quick look from Gabriel. As soon as he’s gone too, Gabriel flashes a smile that is _far_ too amused for Castiel’s liking.

It’s obvious that Dean is here to talk about why he left – though Castiel is confused about _why_ he’s so focused on words, of all things. And they are words that Castiel doesn’t even remember. But are he and Dean going to talk about what happened _in front_ of the Chieftain? Castiel glances between Dean and Gabriel, trying to figure out if that’s truly what he wants to do. Personally, he would prefer that they didn’t. But there is nowhere for him to take Dean where they would be alone and it would be completely inappropriate for him to ask the Chieftain to leave his own hut.

Dean merely waves his hand and steps in front of Castiel again. “We can talk candidly. He knows.”

Castiel looks to Gabriel sharply, surprised and more than a little dismayed. He must know now that he was lied to regarding Castiel’s true reason to returning to the tribe. But Gabriel doesn’t look displeased. If anything, he looks delighted. He looks as though this is the greatest news he’s ever heard and his smile is almost frightening.

“I had to tell Gabriel that things did not end well between us to convince him to send word to me when you returned from your mission.” Dean sighs, glancing with a frown toward Gabriel again. “And I had to tell him _why_ I wanted to talk to you to get him to summon you to this hut.”

Gabriel shrugs and tucks his hands behind his head, as though he’s sitting back to watch a display during a celebration. This is far from one and Castiel’s stomach sinks. He doesn’t want to have this conversation in front of anyone, let alone have it at all. But before he can say anything about it, Dean starts pacing in a back and forth before him.

“Do you have any idea what it’s been like since you left?”

Castiel shakes his head, his hands nothing more than trembling fists at his sides. “I only heard about the recent attacks when I returned from my mission. At the same time I was told that your guards have been more than satisfactory in that regards.” His heart twists at being the reason why the attacks even started again for Dean. “But – Have you been alright?”

He shrugs and shoves a hand through his hair. It’s still short, but in need of a cut soon. Castiel can’t help but wonder if perhaps one of his Aladaï guards have been cutting it for him. “There have been some close calls, but that isn’t what I’m here to talk about.” He turns to him sharply, eyes dark and burning and Castiel is incapable of looking away. “You _left_. You get that, right?”

“I’m aware.” As if he would ever forget.

“You said you were never going to leave me.” Dean hisses, stepping close enough that Castiel can feel each breath he takes on his face. “Do you remember that, _Castiel_?”

Having that promise thrown back at him, in addition to his full name – the first that Dean has said of it today – is like a slap to the face and Castiel can only avert his eyes as he continues. “How about when you promised that you would be there to help me with my son? What about that one?”

Castiel bites his tongue as a sour, stinging sensation rises in his throat. There’s nothing that he can say to that. Knowing that he broke so many promises has been a constant pain for him, even if he still believes that this was the right choice. Eventually those who are trying to attack Dean will learn that his current guards are just as good as Castiel was. When they stop again, Dean will be safer than he was when Castiel was a temptation for him.

Clearly, Dean does not agree with him on this. He shoves his hands through his hair and starts pacing again, his voice thick with a bitter anger. “I’ve gone over the answer you gave me more times than I can count. I couldn’t _stop_ thinking about it and it was eating me alive.” With a heavy sigh, Dean’s shoulders slump briefly and he rubs a hand over his face. “Lisa even said she didn’t want to be around me. She said that my anger was affecting Ben before he was even born.”

His pacing is getting more and more agitated and Castiel’s heart aches seeing him like this. “Did you know that both of them – Lisa and Sam – Did you know that they both blamed me? They said it was _my_ fault that you left.”

“That’s not true.” He finally finds his voice, but it comes out as nothing more than a whisper. “The decision was my own.”

“But you _left_ because of what I told you, didn’t you?” Dean hisses, his expression crumpling with pain as though that realization is still fresh. He looks to Castiel again, eyes wide and almost hopeful. “Would you have still chosen to leave if I had never said anything?”

Castiel’s lips press together in a tight, silent line. He doesn’t want to tell Dean that he never would have left if he didn’t know of his feelings. Telling him that will only hurt Dean more and he’ll only shoulder more blame for this. But his silence is no better an answer and he can see the way it shatters Dean’s heart all over again.

Dean’s jaw clenches and he takes a deep breath. “Of course it was my fault. I figured that much on my own when you told me you were going to leave. Lisa knew without having to be told. She’s the one who convinced me to take my chance with you. Her and Sam – they’re the only ones who ever knew how I –” He shakes his head when he stops that sentence short. “Sam never knew that I told you how I felt. I had to explain everything to him, and when I did he opened my eyes to something I hadn’t realized before.” He looks back to Castiel again, anger filling his face again. “And do you know what that was?”

When Castiel doesn’t answer, because he has no idea what it was that Sam helped him see, Dean sighs and continues. “He pointed out that you never said that you didn’t love me back.” One of his hands moves to clutch the pendant. That conversation must have been when Sam gave him the necklace. “You said that you _can’t_ return my feelings, not that you _don’t_.”

It feels as though Castiel’s heart and stomach have attempted to relocate to his throat. This is why he couldn’t stay. He knew that Dean would figure out how he truly felt eventually. But he never expected that Dean would _follow him_ to the tribe lands over it.

He takes a deep breath, closing his eyes momentarily before he answers him. Castiel can’t let Dean know that this is affecting him in any way. “You left your kingdom and your newborn son to quibble over semantics with me?”

“Lisa was the one who told me to come.” Dean squares his shoulders and fixes him with a hard glare. “Answer my question, _Castiel_.”

The sound of his full name on Dean’s tongue doesn’t sound right. Castiel wants to hear Dean call him by the name _he_ gave him. It’s getting harder and harder to hold his composure. “My apologies, your Highness, but you never asked me a question.”

Dean’s lip curls. “ _Fine_. Let’s start with _why_ did you leave?”

It’s not surprising that Dean asked this question first, but Castiel is still unprepared to answer it. He swallows around the lump in his throat, hoping that when he opens his mouth next his voice will be as flat and emotionless as he wants it to be. Right now, Castiel needs to answer like the soldier that he used to be – and has been struggling to be again.

“Because I couldn’t love you.”

“ _Couldn’t_.” He frowns, eyebrows coming together as he picks apart those words as much as he did the last. “So, you really _don’t_ love me?”

“That’s not what I said, my Lord.” Castiel shakes his head again and forces his body to relax, hands uncurling. His palm stings where his nails were digging into it. Dean already knows – or suspects even more than before – that Castiel has not be entirely truthful with his reasons. There is no escape from this anymore.

“Then spell it out for me.” Dean crosses his arms, his glare never leaving him though it has softened. “Since I’m obviously not understanding this, _explain_ it to me.”

With a heavy sigh, Castiel looks away from Dean and from Gabriel. He doesn’t need to see what his Chieftain thinks of this, and he doesn’t want to see Dean’s face when he explains his reasoning. He can’t understand for the life of him how Dean doesn’t see that a relationship between them might bring him nothing but ruin.

No matter how hard Castiel tries, his words come out as nothing but bitter. “I’m _Aladaï_ and I was your _servant_.” He turns to Dean so sharply, with such angry words, that it makes him take a step back. “And that is leaving aside the fact that I’m quite obviously _male_ and that your people keep their homosexuality in the shadows because you allow a Church to preach that love between certain people is a _sin_. With that in mind, do you _really_ think that your people would _ever_ accept me as your lover?”

For a moment, Dean can do nothing but move his mouth without making words. When he does, his words are outraged. “So that _is_ the problem?”

He makes it sound as though he already knew this reasoning. But if he did, why would he have asked? This only confuses Castiel again and frustrates him more.

“There is no _problem_.” He sighs, shaking his head. Why can’t Dean understand? “I thought things _through_ and leaving was the only option with the least amount of risk to your throne or your life. It was my training as an Aladaï that kept you safe and you’re lucky that there were other Aladaï I was able to assign to your protection. They’ve been doing a fine job in my stead.”

Just from the look on Dean’s face, it’s obvious that he doesn’t share in this opinion. “But you _left_.”

“I left to _protect you_.” Castiel hisses and steps forward to fill the space between them, never letting his eyes leave Dean’s. “It doesn’t matter what I want or who I love. I had to think about what was best to keep _you_ safe because your safety has and _always_ will be my highest priority.”

In that instant, Dean looks simultaneously happy and devastated. This time he doesn’t resist the twitch of his hands and one of them comes up to catch Castiel’s wrist. It’s like lightning has struck his skin and a tingling rush spreads across through his body, originating from where Dean’s warm hand touches him.

“Come back with me, Cas.” The use of the name Dean gave him is like a benediction and heat flares bright through Castiel’s chest. “Come home with me and we can keep working it all out together. I can give you status so you won’t be a servant anymore. I always planned –”

No, no, _no_. Castiel can’t allow this. He can’t let Dean offer him any suggestions or ways he could fix it. He can’t let Dean keep talking like he already _has_ been fixing it. Because Castiel isn’t strong enough for this. He almost broke before he left the kingdom and this time he just might accept it if only so he can feel _normal_ again. If only so he can be with the people he loves and misses.

“I know what you planned.” He murmurs, stepping away and pulling his wrist from Dean’s grip. “But I’m sorry, your Highness.” It feels like his body resists the motion as Castiel forces it into a stiff bow. “I will need to decline your offer again.” Before Dean can object, Castiel turns away from him to face Gabriel. “Sir, may I please be excused?”

“Cas – don’t – I’m the _King_. I can make it work. I’m already –”

He ignores Dean’s pleas, though they tug painfully at his insides. Castiel knows that as soon as he walks away from him, he’ll be leaving his heart in Dean’s hands again. As much as it hurts, he stands resolute and watches Gabriel for his answer. All amusement has slipped from Gabriel’s face and he glances between them with a cold, calculating stare.

Finally, his gaze rests on Dean. “Is this going to affect our peace treaty? If you’re planning on revoking it because of this, I can just _order_ Castiel to go with you.”

As tempted as he is to look to Dean to see his reaction, Castiel holds fast and keeps his eyes on his Chieftain. Maybe, if he continues to be firm about this, Dean will understand. He won’t try and push for Castiel to change his mind. There is no doubt in his mind that Dean won’t try and use the peace treaty to bargain for his return to the Lowlands. Castiel knows him better than that and he knows that _Dean_ would never do something like that. But a part of him still remains tense until he sees, from the corner of his eye, how Dean’s shoulders slump.

“No. I’m not going to make Cas do anything he doesn’t want to do.”

Dean has never been more wrong. Castiel _does_ want to go with him. Every single part of him wants to return to the Lowlands, to his place at Dean’s side, to _home_. But he can’t. He needs to stay here. Now that Dean knows why Castiel left, he might eventually come to understand that this is to keep him _safe_. When he can come to terms with that, then this will hurt less.

“Fine. You may go, Castiel.” Gabriel waves his hand, but stops mid motion. “Unless his Majesty has anything else he would like to discuss with you?”

“No.” He sighs, rubbing a hand over his face. “I’m done.” A small laugh, bitter and sad, bubbles out of him and Dean murmurs his last words under his breath, barely loud enough for Castiel to hear. “A King can have anything he desires except for the one thing that he _really_ wants.”

Before he can stop himself, Castiel is looking to him again. He finds himself speaking in a soft whisper – the words falling from him unheeded and unstoppable. “That feeling is not only for a King, Dean.”

It marks the first time that he’s said Dean’s name since the day he told him his decision to leave and it feels so cathartic, yet so incredibly painful – he never wants to _stop_ saying it. Dean must know this too. The desperate, devastated look that slips across his face makes Castiel’s arms tense with the desire to wrap him in them. He wants to apologize. Castiel wants to hold onto Dean and never let him go. There is nothing he wishes for more than that. But all Castiel can do is dip his head with a soft goodbye on his lips.

At the entrance to the hut, he stops with his hand fisted in the blanket, paused before he can lift it. “May I offer you a word of advice, my Lord?” Castiel looks over his shoulder and waits for Dean’s eyes to be on him. “If you’re planning to continue to grow out you beard, you should not let it get any longer than the nail of your thumb. Like your hair, it would just be something else for an opponent to grab in a fight. That’s why most Aladaï are clean shaven.”

Dean brings a hand to his cheek and rubs at the coarse hair covering his jaw. “Oh.” There’s warmth in his eyes and the shadow of a sad smile ghosts across his lips. “Thank you. I’ll keep that in mind.”

Though his suggestion is given out of interest in Dean’s safety, Castiel can’t help but also think that Dean does look better with just a day or two of stubble. The beard makes him look too much like his father and though the old King was a good King, Dean is a very different man than he was. But at least now Dean knows that Castiel is still looking out for him, even if he is no longer at his side.

With that, Castiel ducks from the hut. He passes Dean’s guards without a word, though he entertains the idea of stopping to speak with the other two Aladaï warriors. They should have told Dean about his beard as soon as he started growing it out. But any desire that he has to speak with them is dampened by the pain spreading out from the hollow space in his chest.

He’s walking away from his heart and his home again and Castiel has no desire to return to his training today. His feet take him on a path that will carry him from the camp and toward a dense copse of trees where he can be alone. He needs time to breathe and to compose himself again before he can show his face to the tribe.

It’s a short distance to walk while heartbroken and Castiel can’t even bring himself to think about how Dean will be doing the same – though his trip will be much longer.

*

The winter passes slowly with more frustration than Castiel cares for. Within moments of Dean leaving the tribe to ride back to the Lowlands, word had been spread through the camp about how King Winchester is _so_ in love with his former attendant that he chased him all the way to the tribe lands after he left. It’s a small blessing that the rumour of _his_ feelings for Dean didn’t spread as well.

No one in the tribe could be called Castiel’s _close_ friend. Few would even be considered a friend. Despite that, there are still some people who know Castiel well enough to know from the start that teasing him about it would be an _extremely_ bad idea. The first person who spoke of it around him mocked him about what he did to make a _King_ fall for him, alluding to false facts that Castiel had seduce King Winchester with his body.

They hadn’t even finished their words before Castiel was tackling them to the ground.

Participating in a fight occurring outside of sparring is punishable by several days of being confined to a solitary hut with little water and less food. The purpose of the hut is to inspire mediation as to why one’s actions were not acceptable, but Castiel left them every time feeling no less vindicated for showing the tribe that Dean’s love for him is a sensitive matter and not one that should be made light of. Despite that, his winter season has been filled with various fights and his commander sending him on many missions both along the edges of the Lowlands and throughout the tribe lands to try and keep him from having the fights.

Castiel’s hurts too much in both mind, body and spirit to be want to put up with anyone. He doubts any member of his tribe understands his pain and he refuses to let anyone use it against him. They have no idea how much he gave up and that to do it he had to hurt the people – the _person_ – he cared the most about.

Actually, if possible, Castiel wants to be reminded as little as possible about his time in the Lowlands. He can never move on if people keep bringing everything up. As much as he loves Dean, and as much as he misses Sam and Lisa, this cold season has done nothing but convince Castiel that it is best for him to leave all of that behind. Maybe, if he buries the heartache and forgets the memories, just _maybe_ he’ll be able to eventually love someone else like he does Dean. But it took so long for it to happen in the first place, and for him to realize how he felt, that Castiel holds little hope for that ever happening again.

Truthfully, he doesn’t want to love anyone else. Castiel doesn’t _really_ want to forget Dean, or Sam, or Lisa, or anything about the Lowlands. All he wants is the pain in his chest to finally stop hurting – like it had the day that Dean came to speak with him. Or like it had been before anything had ever been said between them. If he could turn back time to the instant before Dean gave his confession, he would. Living without knowing Dean loved him too was so much more preferable to this lonely, painful nightmare.

When winter gives way to spring and the tribe moves back to their home for the warm seasons, Castiel is no closer to leaving that part of his life behind than he was when he left the Lowlands. Even though he has yet to move on from that part of his life, Castiel knows that one day he will be okay just as Dean will hopefully be. As long as Dean remains safe, this hurt will leave him soon enough if it hasn’t already.

Many moons have passed since his visit here and Castiel wouldn’t be surprised if Dean really has already moved on. His guards and his family are there for him. They can help him through this all and his guards are no finer people than Castiel himself. He trusts them to do their job. And Castiel reminds himself of this every single day – hoping eventually he will believe it.

During the fourth moon of the New Year, while spring is still wet and underway, Castiel is busy with helping to clean the space for their summer homes. Everything needs to be swept while the ground is evened out and scouted for any changes in the terrain. As they do that, their training areas need to be sectioned out from the rest of the camp, and the few permanent buildings need to be cleaned and reinforced for a new year.

It’s Castiel’s luck – or his lack thereof – that has him helping mark out the sparring rings when a messenger arrives on horseback, sweat on his brow and the sides of his horse heaving with every gasped breath. Castiel is there, almost standing right beside him, when the messenger all but shouts news that silences his world. All Castiel can hear is the pounding beat of his pulse as he sprints away from the unfinished training area before the messenger has even finished talking.

Echoing between every beat of his broken heart are the messenger’s words;

_King Winchester has fallen._


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Hold on, Dean.” He whispers, stroking gentle fingers along his throat to help urge him to swallow. “Just hold on, please. I’ll make you better.” A lump fixes itself behind his tongue and he forces out a plea that nearly chokes him. “Please, _stay with me_ , Dean.” The irony of his request is not lost on him.

Castiel runs through the camp just ahead of the wave of rumours that spread from the messenger. It will reach Gabriel and everyone else in the camp soon enough, but Castiel cares for nothing else. The fear in his chest is spiraling into a panic. Dean is – Dean has – No. No, no, no, no, _no_. This was not a part of his plan. His guards were supposed to keep him _safe_. How could he – This isn’t possible. It’s not happening. It’s _not_.

But no matter how many times that Castiel repeats that in his head, he can’t make himself believe it as he all but tears down the cover to the large tent temporarily used to house groups of the tribe until the campgrounds are ready. His travel pack still holds everything he owns and only the clothes he wears currently and his bedroll have been unpacked. Castiel has no care for his bedroll and he only grabs the pack, slinging it onto his shoulders as he sprints from the tent again.

He can hardly breathe while he shoves his way through the groups of people gathering to gossip about the messenger’s announcement. Their words all fall on deaf ears and Castiel ignores the pitying glances thrown his way. His focus lays solely with the tribe’s store of horses currently stabled until their roaming pens have been reconstructed. Castiel says nothing to the horsemasters, pushing past them and ignoring their objections while he takes the bridle and reins from where they hang on the wall. He doesn’t bother with a saddle. The more the horse has to carry, the slower it will run.

Before Castiel can get the bridle fitted over the horse’s head, Gabriel is at his side with a steady hand on his arm. It doesn’t matter that he’s his Chieftain. He better not try and stop Castiel now. May the Gods help him if he does.

“Calm yourself.” Gabriel hisses, squeezing his wrist tightly. “King Winchester _isn’t_ dead.”

Relief spreads so quickly through Castiel that his knees get weak. A quiet, dry sob escapes his lips and he drops his head to the horse’s muscle, breathing deeply to try and calm the pounding pain of his heart. There was more to the message. Dean isn’t dead. Thank the Gods, _Dean is alive_. He allows Gabriel to pull him away from the horse and Castiel watches without seeing as the stable masters take over preparing the horse for him.

“You should have listened to the rest of the message.” His Chieftain scolds, though his tone is light.

“The messenger should have started it a little better than he did.” Castiel snaps back, trying to stop his hands from shaking. “How else was I supposed to react to an announcement that the King has _fallen_? It was poorly worded.”

Gabriel sighs and rubs a hand over his face. “The King has fallen _ill_ , Castiel. He is _sick_.” When Castiel looks to him sharply, he holds up his hand to stop him from speaking. “Allow me to give you the whole message that was intended for you in the first place.” He waits until he’s sure that Castiel won’t speak over him. “Six days ago, the King was attacked by a group of well-trained assassins. He sustained an injury and one of his guards, one of our _kin_ , did not survive the fight.”

Which means the tribe will be holding a celebration in honour of their life. Does Gabriel expect Castiel to stay for it? He can’t do it. Even if Dean is ill, he is a guard short. When Castiel was his only protector, Dean had never been injured aside from the scratch he received during the first kidnapping attempt that Castiel foiled. This is so much worse than that and Castiel needs to see him breathing with his own eyes. There is nothing else in his life that matters now but ensuring Dean’s safety has not been completely compromised.

“Yesterday morning, the King passed out when he was preparing for a bath and he could not be woken no matter what the healers did.” Gabriel continues, and each word makes Castiel’s lungs shrink in size. “The Queen dispatched a messenger here as soon as she could. Your King is not good and he’s only getting worse.”

The stable master brings the horse over as soon as it’s prepared and Gabriel hands the reins to Castiel. That’s the closest thing to permission he can get without Gabriel outright saying the words. Castiel uses a stool to spring up onto its back with a quick word of thanks. Lisa would never have sent a messenger here _specifically_ if she didn’t want him to know. He doesn’t know her reasons, but Castiel will have to thank her when he gets there. If Dean had died and there was something Castiel could have done, he would never be able to forgive himself.

This message is something Castiel cannot ignore. Everything that happened before – Dean’s confession and his decision to leave – none of that matters anymore. He needs to return home _now_. Without another word to Gabriel, or even a promise to return, Castiel digs his heels into the sides of the horse and gallops from the stables. Hopefully Gabriel will understand why.

*

When Castiel had returned to the tribe, he had been on foot and avoided roads for the entire journey. He had to hunt his meals and find creeks to drink from. It had taken a fortnight. On horseback, if he keeps to the roads and pushes the beast for all its worth, he’ll be able to reach the kingdom in just under two days. Hopefully, time will be on his side.

But even in his hurry, Castiel cannot bring himself to ask more from the horse than it can give. He allows it to rest for a short period during the night, though he does not sleep himself. How can he when his mind is a whirlwind of worry and devastation knowing that Dean is growing sicker with every passing moment? He can only let the horse sleep for brief bursts before he has to beg more of it, though he does stop whenever the horse grows tired and needs to eat or drink.

It takes him a day to reach the border between his homeland and the Lowlands. Evening is falling again when Castiel comes to a trading post next to the road. The traders accept his horse for a fresh one and Castiel rides out again as soon as he is able. If Gabriel wants the horse back, he can get it from there. Castiel is racing against time and he has none to waste debating with Aladaï traders about the future of a horse.

Sleeping during the night is almost impossible for him. His thoughts never silence themselves enough for him to rest enough for it. What was Castiel _thinking_? He never should have left. Dean’s safety was _guaranteed_ with Castiel at his side and now he could very well be _dying_. This is his fault. All of this is Castiel’s fault. How could he leave? It’s barely been a year and each day has been a struggle for him. It’s been worse yet for Dean – with the attacks, the doubt, and the blame he carries for Castiel’s leaving. He’s had such a weight on his shoulder and Castiel is the one who put it there.

Castiel has never hated himself more than he does now.

When the walls of the main city rise on the horizon, only visible in the night by the fires burning in wide sconces along the wall, Castiel leans lower on the back of the horse and whispers a plea for it to run faster. At the same time he prays. Castiel prays that he is not too late. He prays that his mistakes can be corrected and that he makes it in time to do _something_. All Aladaï have some training in healing to deal with various wounds and a variety of poisons – which accounts for the several pouches of herbs in his pack. There is no guarantee that Castiel will be of any help, but he has to _try_. He can’t just let Dean die.

Castiel reaches the city walls before the sun rises on what would be his third day from the tribe. His horse is exhausted, but the guards’ horses are stabled next to the guardhouse, sleeping and fresh. He drops from the back of his horse before it even canters to a full stop in front of the closed gates – they don’t open until the sun rises for the farmers to bring their produce to market. That’s far too long for him to wait and he hopes no guard is foolish enough to stop him from entering now.

One of the guards – a low ranking soldier from the army – comes out of the guardhouse with a sleepy yawn on his lips. His whole demeanor changes when he sees an _Aladaï_ standing there, his hand going to his sword though he does not draw it. Castiel expected to be delayed by the guards, but he’s irritated that the kingdom is not on higher alert considering their _King_ lays sick and dying.

“Open the gates.” He demands, not caring for decorum. “I am Castiel – personal attendant and protector to the King. Let me –”

“I know who you are.” The soldier interrupts and there is a clatter of sound in the guardhouse. “But if you’re the King’s _protector_ , than _where_ were you?”

The question slices into Castiel with the same precision of a sword. “Let me pass.”

“No one enters the Kingdom until the sun rises.” Another guard all but growls as he comes out of the guardhouse too, another two soldiers at his heel. So they _have_ increased the security of the kingdom. Castiel would be proud if he wasn’t already annoyed that they are only delaying him. “You will wait just as every commoner does.”

“I am here to _help_ my King.” Castiel hisses and drops his pack, knowing full well that if he wants to gain entrance to the city proper then he’ll be fighting his way in. “Do _not_ waste my time.”

All four of the soldiers stand before the gate and draw their swords. The torches in their sconces on the walls light the road almost as though dawn were already upon them. Castiel has no patience to beg his admittance and he refuses to allow anyone to stand in his way. The first guard, standing to the left of the line and the one closest to Castiel, receives a fist to the jaw as his sword is knocked away. The strike is fast enough, _hard enough_ , to drop the guard in one go.

His momentum carries him in a circle and Castiel channels it all into a kick that slaps away the second guard’s sword. He pivots again, jumping for another kick to catch him in the face. That soldier hits the ground too and the third launches at him. Castiel sidesteps the thrust of the sword and grabs his wrist, twisting it until he hears the clatter of metal on the stone surrounding the gate. With one sharp tug, he pulls the soldier forward as he drives his knee up and into his chest, knocking the wind from his lungs.

He collapses to the ground, gasping, and Castiel faces the fourth and final guard. His attack took bare moments and the soldier is frozen in place, staring. Castiel takes a step towards him and he drops his sword, raising both hands to his shoulders in surrender. His face is younger than the other three. He must be a new recruit, likely around Sam’s age. Good. The young ones are easier to command.

“I _will_ see my King.” Castiel states flatly, pointing to the locked gates. They can only be opened from the inside, but there is a normal door built into them that the guards have a key to. “Open the door. _Now_.”

“Yes sir!” The boy gasps, scrambling to get the keys from the belt of one of the others on the ground.

While he does that, Castiel shoulders his pack again and takes one of the horses from the pen next to the guardhouse. It will be a short ride to the castle walls from here. In case of emergency, the horses are all saddled and ready to go at a moment’s notice. He leads the horse through the door and swings up onto its back almost before they’re completely through. The young soldier is left behind without another word as Castiel cracks the reins and the horse springs forward into a gallop to carry him through the city’s empty streets.

The castle sits at the city’s far edge along the bend of a river, hidden behind a moat and thick walls. If the guards there give him any trouble, then Castiel will swim the moat and climb the walls. He will not allow anyone or anything to stand in his way. Dean needs him and Castiel has already failed him once. It won’t happen again and he _will_ be at Dean’s side when – not _if_ – he wakes. It’s where he always belonged and Castiel was foolish – so damned _foolish_ – to leave it.

To his great surprise, when Castiel pulls the horse to a stop at the edge of the drawbridge. The guards standing watch take one look at him and turn to sound the signal horn. From the other side of the moat, the sound of great gears turning creaks through the early morning air. If there were no buildings in his way, Castiel would likely be able to see the horizon brightening. The sun is still a ways off, but it will rise soon and he only hopes that he isn’t too late.

Castiel forces the horse to turn and take a running gallop at the drawbridge before it’s fully been lowered. Its hooves clatter across the thick wood planks before it hits the dirt paths of the courtyard. Already the servants of the palace are moving around their daily business and none seem surprised to see him, though they’re startled by his sudden appearance. One of the stable hands abandons his task of carrying bales of hay to run after Castiel and the horse, following him to the steps leading into the castle. He seizes the horses reins after Castiel has dismounted, jumping from the horses back to part way up the stone steps.

No one stops him or questions his presence. If anything, they make way for him as Castiel runs through the castle, the pliable leather of his moccasins slapping the hard floor with every step. The rigid frame of his pack digs into his back and his shirt sticks to him uncomfortably with sweat. Castiel ignores it all. Dean is _sick_ and he could be dying. _He_ is Castiel’s priority and nothing else is ever going to matter to him until Dean is well again.

The only place Castiel can think that they would keep a sick King is in his bedchambers. It’s what they did for Dean’s father and he sprints for there first, taking the stairs in the main hall two at a time. Part of him wants to stop and ask someone – possibly Miss Mills, as he runs past her – what Dean’s condition is. Since he first heard that Dean had fallen ill, two full days have passed. Anything could have happened in that time frame and Castiel is terrified that he’s going to reach Dean’s bedroom and find that he is too late. But if that were the case, the servants and the guards he forced his way past would be far more somber than they are now.

When he rounds a corner, Castiel nearly crashes headlong into Meg. He twists to the side to avoid her, but she still drops her armful of carefully folded blankets. With his rhythm broken, Castiel takes a moment to breathe and he crouches to help her pick everything up.

“You don’t need to do that.” Meg insists, slapping his hands away. “You’re here for the King, aren’t you? He’s with the healers in his bedchamber. Everyone else is there too – his brother, his son, the Queen. They’re all there and waiting for you.”

Castiel takes a deep breath to calm the rapid beat of his heart. “How is he?”

Meg pauses in gathering the blankets, her eyes trained on the bundle in her arms. “His fever grows worse with every passing day and he _still_ hasn’t woken yet. We all fear the worst and the councilors are already insisting that Prince Sam start learning how to rule in his stead alongside the Queen until Prince Benjamin is of age.”

That is all Castiel needs to hear. He leaves Meg in the hall to tend to the rest of the blankets. Just one more corner and he’ll be at Dean’s bedchambers – as long as Dean did not change them in the year that Castiel has been gone. But Meg would have said something if that had happened. Even with his brief interlude talking to Meg, Castiel still feels like he can’t breathe and sweat still slips down his spine with every step he takes. The same prayers he’s made his whole journey still echo through his mind with every ragged breath he takes.

 _Please don’t let me be too late._ He prays to Aïnkin. _Please let me help him_. He prays to Kuïn. _Please let me save him_. He prays to the Alaï. _I had to give him up once already. Please don’t take him from me now._

Castiel’s stomach plummets when he rounds the final corner and sees the double doors of the King’s bedroom. They’re shut tight, but standing before them is Sam. His hands are loose on the handles and his forehead rests against the grain. He’s grown quite a bit and he’s had a haircut since Castiel saw him last, though it is still long enough to be braided. His shoulders are slumped so dejectedly – so sad and broken – that Castiel can only think that the worst has happened and his voice suddenly leaves him.

Fear wraps his chest in an icy grip and Castiel opens his mouth, trying to find the words to ask – to find out if he’s too late. Nothing comes out and it’s only the sound of his footsteps that alerts Sam to his presence. Sam first glances over his shoulder out of curiosity. As soon as he registers that it’s _Castiel_ coming up the hall toward him, both surprise and relief spreads across his face. Regardless of the pack on Castiel’s back or his sweat soaked shirt, Sam still throws himself into a hug.

“You’re here!” He whispers, voice thick with unshed tears. “You actually came.”

If Castiel wasn’t already in pain, he knows that Sam’s words and the _doubt_ laced through them would be another arrow to his heart. All he can do is hug Sam back just as tightly, trying to convey all the apologies he has in the hold of his arms.

“I should never have left.” He can’t bring his voice any louder than a whisper, scared that anything more will shatter the quiet and bring the news he hopes never to hear. “I’m sorry for all the trouble I’ve caused. I came as soon as I heard.” Castiel glances toward the door as Sam takes a step back. “Is he –?”

“Alive.” Sam says softly, his joy at seeing Castiel again leached away by sorrow. “For now.” He looks up at Castiel with wide eyes brimming with tears. “He won’t wake up, Cas. No matter what the healers do, he _won’t wake up_.”

Castiel shrugs his pack from his shoulders and lets it hang from one hand. A small, nearly non-existent part of him doesn’t want to see Dean’s condition beyond the doors – but he needs to. He needs to help in whatever way he can. There will be no failing Dean again – not if he can help it.

“Show me to him.”

Sam brightens slightly and he grabs Castiel’s sleeve, tugging him toward the door. They slip inside as quietly as possible, but Lisa still looks over at the soft creak of the hinges. She’s seated in a chair toward the end of the bed where she can watch the gathered healers. Castiel counts five heads standing grouped at the edge of the bed, completely hiding Dean’s prone form from him. A sleeping child, only a few moons from being a year old now, is cradled in Lisa’s arms.

Benjamin is swathed in a soft blanket and the doll Castiel made for him is clutched tightly in his little hands. For the first time since Dean visited the tribe, Castiel feels the freeze in his heart thaw just a little. Has he really still remained family despite leaving everyone behind? He may have done it because he thought it was the right thing to do, but Castiel thinks he knows better now. _Fear_ may have been what sent him away – the fear that he would bring about the worst for Dean by staying, but he should not have let it keep him from everything that matters to him.

If he can save Dean – if he can help – Castiel might choose to stay. That is – if he’s still wanted. Dean might hate him now for refusing him _twice_. But if he does stay, if he doesn’t leave Dean’s side again, Castiel needs to make sure Dean understands that they cannot be more than the friends they have always been. He can no longer just leave Dean to be protected by anyone else. It doesn’t matter if it will hurt to be at Dean’s side knowing how they feel for each other and denying themselves it. His safety is what matters and Castiel can apparently no longer trust anyone else to do it.

He looks pointedly at Sir Benny and the Aladaï warrior standing at his side, both downcast and unable to meet his eyes. Though he feels bad that they lost a comrade and an Aladaï kin, Castiel can’t help but wonder _why_ they weren’t enough to stop a few assassins. How could _three_ be less effective than _one_ had been? Despite his irritation that they were unable to do the job he left them with, Castiel still acknowledges them with a tilt of his head before Lisa takes his attention away.

“What took you so long?” She asks with a soft smile, reaching out a hand to him.

Castiel doesn’t hesitate to take it and press a kiss to her knuckles. “Were I as fast as a horse, my Queen, I would have ran the entire way on foot without rest. I only hope I made it on time to be of any use to you and my King.”

“Just having you here is enough.” Her smile falls and Lisa looks down at her sleeping son. “I don’t know what else you could do for him.”

“Let me try.” He drops his pack to lean it against the back legs of her chair and glances at the healers. A few of them have stopped their discussion to look at him with curious frowns. “May I please see him?”

The soft murmur of their voices falls silent and all eyes turn to him. None of the healers look pleased, but Castiel holds his ground until Lisa clears her throat. While sharing unhappy stares amongst each other, they all back away from the bed. For the first time in more than half a year, Castiel sees Dean again and the cold steel he’s wrapped around his heart in the past several moons shatters completely. He loses his ability to breathe and his knees grow weak.

“We believe it is merely an infection of the wound.” One of the healers mutters, though Castiel pays them no heed. His attention is solely focused on his King.

Dean is lying on his right side, naked from the waist up with his left arm drawn up and above his head. The wound left by the assassins is exposed along his side; a diagonal line that runs from his ribs to his hip. His skin around it is swollen, bruised, and ugly. The gash itself is oozing a sickly looking pus and Castiel winces at the sight of it. Whatever weapon delivered the blow must have been dipped in poison. The toxin that has infected Dean’s blood has made him deathly pale, making the unshaven stubble on his jaw stand out even more. A sheen of sweat dampens his skin as a fever ravages his thin body with shivers. He’s lost more weight since when Castiel saw him last and he aches that his depature affected Dean as badly as it has.

Castiel’s opal necklace still hangs around Dean’s neck and he has to force his gaze from it. The wound is clearly the most important thing to focus on right now and Castiel steps closer, leaning over Dean to inspect the gash. A sickly sweet odor is rising from it and he crinkles his nose. He’s smelled that before, but he can’t exactly place where. The wound itself is foul, but it’s barely more than a surface wound. Castiel has seen his fair share to know and it only convinces him more that a poison is at fault here. But _which_ poison is the important question. The list is drastically narrowed by how long it is taking to kill him since the time of the attack.

He turns sharply to the group of healers. “What are his symptoms?”

One of them shifts on his feet before he clears his throat. “He has a fever that grows steadily worse.”

“I can see that. What _else_?”

Another starts counting on his fingers. “A violent, intermittent cough. Rattling breath. Slipping in and out of consciousness though he is never truly awake. He’s opened his eyes once or twice, but we have never managed to get him to react to external stimuli.”

The list shortens more. “Who were the attackers? Do any of them still breathe?”

“They’re all dead.” Sir Benny announces from the back of the room. “Before we knew anything was wrong, the King had ordered their executions. All we know of them is that they’re assassins.”

“What was their race?” Castiel demands, fetching his pack from next to Lisa. He has an idea of what the poison might be and he needs his herbs. “Were they from the Southern lands? Were they Northerners? Or were they –”

“Northerners.” Lisa bites out, her voice cool like ice. “They were assassins hired from the North.”

That confirms Castiel’s suspicions and he knows _exactly_ what he needs to do now. In recent years, many Northerners who hire themselves out as assassins have started using a slow acting poison with _extremely_ similar symptoms as what Dean is portraying – if not exactly the same. Castiel has only encountered it a handful of times in the last year from weapons that have been coated with it. But if an antidote is given within time, they will survive.

Slow poisons are tricky. They lie about their true form and give false hope. If this was merely an infection, drawing out the pus and using a poultice would handle it well. A _poison_ is very different and he dumps the pouches with their stitched symbols of their contents across the end of the bed. He sorts through them until he finds one with the familiar image of a particular leaf on the outside.

“Boil water and steep a tea with this.” Castiel instructs, turning around to shove the pouch into the hands of one of the healers. “Use the entire pouch and find more of that leaf. The tea needs to be potent to counteract the fever and cough, and he’s going to need to drink it for a long time. Hurry.”

The healer looks as though he is about to object at being told what to do by someone who is quite clearly of a lesser status than him _and_ an Aladaï. A sharp look from the Queen is enough to silence the complaint before it comes and he storms across the room to prepare the kettle sitting next to the grate. Castiel picks out various other herbs, roots, and seeds from his pouches. Some of what he needs are missing and he shoves the healers out of the way to search through their own cases.

He sends the other healers off to the kitchen to bring back more water, some milk, and extra pots to boil and prepare everything. Castiel steals a mortar and pestle from their bags to grind his ingredients while he waits. A poultice of some of the ingredients placed on the wound will draw out the infection caused to be a distraction, and an elixir made of the rest will start to counteract the poison. He has no way to know if he’s made it in time right now, but by the Gods he is going to fight against this poison as he would a physical attacker. He won’t give up on Dean until he knows that all hope is lost.

The poultice takes longer to prepare and Castiel spreads a salve over the wound in the mean time to help ease the swelling. Cloths soaked in well water are placed across Dean’s forehead and throat to help cool his fever while the tea is being prepared. Giving him the tea is the most difficult part once it’s ready. His head lolls limply as Castiel sits next to him on the bed and carefully lifts him to place extra pillows under his shoulders and head until he is propped up enough for drinking.

Castiel can only give him a little at a time, carefully keeping Dean’s head tilted back and making sure he actually swallows before he gives him a little more. In a soft voice, too quiet for anyone else to hear over the discussion between the healers about Castiel’s methods and the sound of everything boiling in or near the grate, he whispers soft encouragement though Dean likely doesn’t hear him.

“Hold on, Dean.” He whispers, stroking gentle fingers along his throat to help urge him to swallow. “Just hold on, please. I’ll make you better.” A lump fixes itself behind his tongue and he forces out a plea that nearly chokes him. “Please, _stay with me_ , Dean.” The irony of his request is not lost on him.

Once he has done all that he can do until the next time he needs to administer the different medicines and change the poultice, Castiel arranges Dean as comfortably in the bed as he can. Now all they can do is wait. Though Castiel’s patience had become legendary after he had accepted that this was his life now, this is a wait that might push that to its limit. It could be a whole day or longer before he knows if he made it in time. At least he can keep himself distracted with watching the tea, changing the cold compresses, and ensuring that the poultice and salve remain fresh.

It doesn’t even occur to Castiel that he’s barely slept in over three days, or that he can’t recall the last time he ate. Every ounce of his attention is focused completely on Dean. His own well being is insignificant when the most important person to him is struggling for his very life. Castiel feels neither tired nor hungry, but as normal as he feels, Sam and Lisa apparently see otherwise.

“Cas.” Sam touches his shoulder, catching Castiel by surprise. He has been so centered on watching Dean that he had hardly noticed that anyone else was still here. “Cas, it’s after midday and you haven’t eaten since you got here.”

“I’m not hungry.” Being reminded of food only has his stomach start growling. But it also reminds Castiel that Dean needs to eat too. “But we should have a broth made for Dean. That will at least be something to fill his stomach more than the tea.”

Lisa sighs, standing from her chair. “You need to eat too. How can you care for Dean if you’re too weak to stand?” She hands Benjamin to Sam and gathers her skirts. From the door she summons a servant and sends them to bring Castiel soup and bread from the kitchen, as well as a broth for Dean. She glances at him as she returns to her seat. “When was the last time you slept, or bathed?”

“It doesn’t matter.” He looks back to Dean, reaching out to press a few fingers to the cloth over his forehead to check if it needs to be changed.

“It _does_ matter.” Sam insists, bouncing Benjamin slightly when he makes fussy noises and tugs at the braid hanging over his shoulder. “Dean would want you to get your rest too. It took you two days to get here. If you left as soon as the messenger arrived, you would have had to barely stop along the way – including not bathing, let alone sleeping.”

Castiel shakes his head and soaks another cloth to exchange it for the one on Dean’s forehead. He left Dean’s side once before and he refuses to do it again. He’ll stay here until Dean is awake and then it will be his choice. Castiel hurt him – he left Dean and sent him away. It’s entirely possible that Dean will refuse to allow him to stay again. And Castiel has yet to determine whether or not he _can_ stay. What if Dean still wants him? What if he still asks for Castiel to be his? Would he have the strength to continue to refuse him? Gods, give him guidance. He has no idea what to do.

With Sam and Lisa watching him pointedly, Castiel has no choice but to eat the food brought for him. He eats a little of his own meal in between trying to feed Dean the thin chicken broth, continuing until both bowls are empty even if his own food is cold by the time he’s done. The food in his stomach feels heavy and it almost feels as though it’s pulling his eyes shut. No. He refuses to sleep. Castiel needs to keep watching over Dean.

But his bodily functions are against him and Castiel is forced to leave the room to relieve himself. He doesn’t expect Sam to follow him and wait for him outside of the latrine. Nor is he prepared for Sam to intercept him when he tries to return to the bedroom.

“You’re taking a bath, Cas.”

“After the King is awake.” He tries to sidestep him, but Sam latches onto Castiel’s arm and throws his whole weight into holding him in place. “I need to go back now, my Lord. Please let me go.”

Sam shakes his head and starts tugging Castiel toward the bathing rooms. “Lisa and Ben are with him right now and we have water heated for you. Since you’re so against sleeping right now, a quick bath will wake you up.”

It does sound nice, and Castiel can’t remember the last time he had a hot bath. His body feels disconnected from his mind – as though his thoughts are coming to him wrapped in cotton while his body is getting heavier with every step. The water is exquisite when he strips and sinks into it, but Castiel does his best not to let it distract him for too long. He shouldn’t be away from Dean any longer than he needs to, or something might happen to him again.

As much as he would like to soak his aches away in the water, Castiel can feel the heat pulling him deeper into his mind. If he stays much longer than it takes to wipe himself down, he fears that the heat might send him to sleep. Once he’s out of the tub and dried off, he splashes cold water on his face to rouse himself a little more. Sam clearly lied to him, though it was likely a clever attempt at a ruse. A bath only made Castiel _more_ tired.

Once they return to the room, Castiel pulls another chair up next to the bed where he can watch over Dean for the rest of the day and into the night. No sooner has he finished checking everything over again and making sure the healers are making the healing tonics, salves, and teas properly, does Lisa place the crown prince in his lap.

“It’s about time that you two meet.” She says brightly, carefully arranging her skirts as she sits on the edge of the bed in front of them. “Though, for all the stories that Dean has told him of you, I wouldn’t be surprised if he knows you just from that. Isn’t that right, Ben?”

Benjamin giggles and slaps happily at Castiel’s arms, entertaining himself by pulling at the sleeves of his shirt. Castiel stares at him and wonders if this is what Dean had been like when he was a child. Dean’s son has his eyes, and already a few freckles are appearing on his cheeks.  Castiel continues to hold him, bouncing his knees every once in a while, while Lisa and Sam try to distract him with conversation about what everyone has been doing while he’s been gone.  It works, for a while until Benjamin starts to fuss – hungry, or bored, Castiel can’t tell. He’s never dealt with _infants_ before.

As soon as the crown prince is out of his hands, Castiel’s concentration shifts and his focus is on Dean again. For all their sakes, Castiel has a different servant come to wipe Dean down and change the blankets when it’s needed. Considering their feelings for one another, it would be inappropriate for him to be the one to handle Dean while he’s naked. Even so, Castiel doesn’t leave the room – instead checking on how the healers are doing.

Sam doesn’t leave either, watching over both Castiel and Dean while Lisa has both Benjamin and tasks around the castle to deal with. It’s not until the evening is upon them and coming to a close that they are left alone, the healers retiring to their rooms save for the one who has taken over Castiel’s old bedroom for the time being. At first it’s silence between him and Sam when they are left on their own, but eventually Sam breaks the quiet.

“He’s been doing his best, you know?” He says softly, sparing a woeful look to his brother. “It’s been hard for him to keep face for the Kingdom when he goes out in public and he’s been avoiding that more than he ever did before.”

Castiel rubs a hand over his face. This is what he had been worried about. “How so?”

“Dean became withdrawn after you left.” Sam shrugs, reaching out to absently smooth a few wrinkles in the blanket. “Most of the time he was just – he was _sad_. The only time I ever saw him smile was when he was holding Ben.”

“Well what did you expect?” Lisa interrupts as she sweeps into the room, finally free from Benjamin now that he’s been put down for the night. “His best friend left him behind. Anyone would be sad at that.”

“It’s more complicated than that, your Highness.” Castiel says, looking away to check on Dean again.

She huffs and shoos Sam out of his seat for her to take it. “We’re alone, Castiel. There’s no status here.” Any of the kindness she showed him earlier has been replaced with the stern demeanor of a mother. “You were my friend too and you left us without giving Sam or I a reason.” Lisa fixes him with an unhappy frown. “Why? Because Dean admitted to loving you?”

If Castiel hadn’t already suspected that Lisa knew, he would be surprised by her blunt question. But he already had this conversation with Dean and he doesn’t particularly want to have it with Lisa _and_ Sam now. With a sigh, he shakes his head and carefully dabs a cold, damp cloth across Dean’s chest. “I’m sure that Dean has told you everything already.”

“We want to hear it from _you_.” Sam insists.

“I left to keep him _safe_.” He snaps back, refusing to look at them as he peels the poultice away to inspect the wound on Dean’s side.

“That worked out _so_ well.” The sarcasm in Sam’s voice stings and Castiel flinches from it.

Dean is fine for the moment and there is only so much that he can do to look busy. Castiel sighs and sits back in his chair. Though he never takes his eyes from Dean, he recites everything he reminded himself of over the last year. But now, sitting in the castle again, the words feel dead on his tongue. They hit the air and crumble without the force he used to speak them with. He knew that if he ever returned, he would never want to leave again. The future is so uncertain now and he hates not knowing what tomorrow will bring.

“You could have just kept it a secret.” Lisa crosses her arms, her frown unmoving. “Marshall and I did that for _years_ and it worked just fine.”

“I don’t want to hide my love.” Castiel answers with a frown of his own. “If I’m with the person I love the most, then I want the world to know. As happy as I would be with Dean, I don’t know if we would be _truly_ happy with the strain of keeping it a secret.” Thinking about it makes Castiel feel as though it’s sucking the energy out of him and he slumps in his chair. “How could we have ever been happy knowing that there was the risk of someone finding out about us? The risks and the consequences that accompany them would far outweigh any happiness we could have had.”

It must not be the answer they were hoping for. Lisa and Sam share an unhappy look, but neither speaks out against it. They know that Castiel’s reasoning is sound. But that doesn’t change the sadness in their eyes or the disappointment in their frowns.

Eventually, Lisa clears her throat and gestures toward Dean. “You’ll stay until he’s better, won’t you?”

“Of course.” He glances to Dean too and his heart feels like it’s swelling while it simultaneously falls apart at seeing him like this. “I’m not going to leave his side.”

“And after?” Sam asks quietly – _hopefully_.

Castiel is unsure how to answer, staying silent until Lisa sighs. “Dean is safest with you, Cas. And – he’s happier with you too.” She pauses and the weight in her gaze is too much for Castiel to meet. “Are you happy in the Aladaï lands?”

Again, Castiel says nothing. Of course he’s not happy. He doesn’t feel at _home_ there anymore. For the last year he’s wanted to be _here_ in the company of the people he loves and those who care for him too. Castiel wants to watch Benjamin grow. He wants to see the kind of father that Dean has become and he wants to be a part of their lives again.

Lisa stands slowly and reaches out to place a hand on Castiel’s shoulder. “We want you _both_ to be happy. We can’t make you stay if you don’t want to, but please consider it – for his sake, and for yours.”

With that, she excuses herself for the night. Sam stays with Castiel for a while after that, sitting together in a silence that is both comfortable and uncomfortable. Eventually, Sam’s yawns become too numerous and he excuses himself too with the gentle reminder that Castiel should eventually sleep as well. With the room empty, Castiel allows himself to relax a little more. Dean’s guards have long since been told to guard outside, having only taken up space while the healers were working.

Castiel rests his elbows on the bed and allows himself a moment to be bold. He takes Dean’s hand between his and rests his forehead against his knuckles. In the quiet of the room, all he is left with is the sound of the fire crackling in the grate and Dean’s ragged breathing. Everything else feels like it’s coming to a standstill and the world no longer exists beyond the borders of this room. The day has both crawled and ran past him and he can hardly believe that he’s _here_ again or that this is truly happening. It feels like a dream wrapped in a nightmare.

A wet cough has Castiel looking up sharply as Dean’s whole body jerks with the force of it. Moving automatically, Castiel carefully lifts Dean to sit up. Part of what the poison’s directive is to attack the lungs. If Dean starts coughing blood, then Castiel will know for certain that he arrived too late. To his knowledge, no one has ever survived after they reached that stage. He places a cloth gently over Dean’s mouth for him to cough into until he’s finished. To his relief, there is no blood on either the cloth or in Dean’s mouth.

For a lack of anything else to do, Castiel gives Dean more of the elixir and washes it down with the tea to help with his fever. When that is done, Castiel can think of nothing else that he _wants_ to do more than to hold Dean’s hand again. The candlelight at least gives Dean some colour to his cheeks and Castiel watches his face in the flickering shadows.

“Please wake up.” When the words escape him, Castiel is startled by them. He had not been planning on saying anything.

Without warning and with those few words, a dam has burst and Castiel presses his forehead to Dean’s knuckles as hard as he can. “ _Please_ wake up, Dean. I’m _sorry_.” He regrets _everything_. This was never what he wanted. Dean was supposed to be _safe_. He was supposed to move on and be happy without him. “I’m so sorry. Please, _wake up_.”

His voice cracks on the last words. With it comes a tear, snaking down his nose and soon followed by others. Castiel rests his cheek against the back of Dean’s hand, holding it tightly as he looks at him through the blur of tears. “Wake up, Dean.”

He takes a deep breath, his voice rasping in a whisper. “I love you.”

It’s cowardly of him to say it when Dean is in this state, unable to hear him. But it’s the only chance Castiel will ever get. He’s never said the words out loud before. Not like this, and they hurt just as much as he thought that they would. Nothing about their situation has changed – not unless Dean’s feelings have waned in the last year. Castiel doesn’t even know if Dean is going to want him to stay after he wakes up. That is all a part of the unknown future that scares him, but Castiel will deal with that when it comes. For now, saving Dean’s life is all that he needs to focus on.

Dean is still wearing Castiel’s necklace and his eyes are drawn to the opal, sparkling on Dean’s chest. He reaches out to touch to the pendant, tracing the smoothed edge with the tip of his finger. With a shaking sigh, Castiel closes his eyes and lays his hand over it. Once more. He’ll say it just once more.

“I love you, Dean. Please – _please_ – wake up.”

*

Sleeping in a chair feels worse for Castiel than sleeping on hard ground without a bedroll. Even so, he rarely leaves his place at Dean’s side. It feels _good_ being there again, though he fears that it might only be temporary. That affects his sleep just as much as his worry and dedication to caring for Dean throughout the days that follow.

He manages to grab short naps at night, doubled over the edge of the bed with his head pillowed on his arms. More often than not, his hand will be covering Dean’s. The excuse in his mind – and on his tongue, should anyone question it – is that it is easier to notice if Dean wakes or is in any sort of distress if he is touching him while he sleeps. For Castiel, hands feel safe. Dean used to touch him all the time – with a hand on the shoulder or his arm. When he was younger, Dean would even hold Castiel’s hand when they went for long walks and especially when he was jealous that it was Sam’s turn to be carried on his back.

Hands are safe – and holding Dean’s brings Castiel a small measure of comfort. It eases his sleep just slightly, though Castiel still wakes at even the slightest sound in the room. This morning, a few days after he arrived, it’s the creak of the door that rouses him. Castiel snaps awake and sits back sharply, dropping Dean’s hand in the same motion. He relaxes the moment he sees that it’s Sam.

Sir Robert stays outside with Dean’s guards as Sam shuts the door and crosses the room to the bed. “How is he today?”

“Better.” Castiel muffles a yawn under his hand and stretches his back. He glances toward Dean and one of the many knots of tension in his chest releases itself. This is the first morning since he arrived that Dean simply looks like he’s sleeping. “His fever broke during the night and he hasn’t coughed since early yesterday.”

He made it in time and Castiel hasn’t stopped thanking the Gods since he realized it.

Sam’s smiles grows wider than Castiel has seen it since he returned. “Does that mean he’s going to wake up again soon?”

“Today, possibly tomorrow.” He shrugs and reaches out to draw back the blanket, intent on checking the healing wound on Dean’s side. “I believe you can dismiss the healers now. The worst is behind us now and I’m confident that I am more than enough to care for Dean now.” Not that the healers were any good to start with. They thought it was simply an _infection_ prior to his arrival.

After a moment of silence, Sam sits on the edge of the bed and watches Castiel carefully wipe down the gash. It looks much better now. “And what are you going to do after he wakes up?”

“I leave that decision in Dean’s hands.” He murmurs, dabbing a dry cloth over the wound. “If he will have me back, then I will return for his sake.”

That had been a ridiculously easy decision for Castiel to come to after he had rested and had the time to think. Sam and Lisa were right. No one can – or has – protected Dean better than him. Dean’s safety has always been his highest priority and if the last year has been any sort of example, Dean is _not_ safe without him. If they can both put aside they emotions and if Dean promises not push for anything that Castiel can’t in good conscience give, then they might be able to continue as though this year had never happened – hopefully.

If Dean can’t do that, if he can’t keep his emotions under control, then Castiel knows he won’t be able to stay. Because if Dean even so much as _says_ he loves him, or looks at him with the overwhelming warmth of his affection, then Castiel’s resolve will crumble. He knows it and he can only hope that Dean will understand that. Dean must know by now that anything between them would only bring him ruin.

Despite that, when Dean finally _does_ wake later that afternoon, Castiel is struck with a sudden wave of anxiety. He doesn’t even know if Dean _wants_ to see him again. Wearing the necklace might mean nothing to Dean now and there is every possibility that he has come to hate Castiel. It makes his stomach turn at the first groan Dean gives, even though his heart soars because _he’s_ _awake_. Sam is on his feet in an instant and Lisa looks up from where she sits on the far side of the bed.

She’s been allowing Benjamin to crawl around on the blanket in the space between her and Dean. The tiny Prince has been fascinated with Dean, continuously crawling and reaching toward his father while making a ‘ _da_ ’ sound. Watching him even brought a smile to Castiel’s face. As soon as Dean groans, Lisa scoops Benjamin into her arms and carries him around to the same side of the bed where Sam and Castiel stand. It is the perfect excuse for him to move out of the way. Dean should see his wife and his son first – not the protector who abandoned him.

Castiel stands just out of sight, using the hanging curtain panels that have been drawn back to the head of the bed as cover. He tells himself that he’s not _hiding_. Dean’s family should get to speak to him first and he removed himself from being a part of that a year ago. His presence would only be a shock to Dean, and that’s the last thing he needs when he first wakes after the ordeal he’s had.

At first, Dean is unaware of the things around him. He mumbles wordless sounds and winces as he moves to rub his knuckles into his eyes. Castiel quickly pours him a cup of water and passes it to Sam to give him. Servants are summoned with more pillows and Castiel watches from the side, hopefully out of sight, as they slowly prop Dean up until he’s sitting comfortably and able to sip lightly at the water. From where he stands, Castiel can see the weak smile the fills Dean’s face when he’s finally able to focus his eyes and look around.

Immediately, he reaches out a hand to Benjamin, his smile growing when his son squeals and grabs at his fingers. “Hey, little guy.” He looks to Sam and Lisa and he must notice the relief clear in their features. “What happened? What have I missed?”

“What’s the last thing you remember?” Sam asks softly, sharing a look with Lisa.

“Having the assassins executed and speaking with the council about the possibility of an ambassador from –” Dean cuts himself off and shakes his head slowly, a frown forming on his lips. “Why?”

Lisa carefully sits on the edge of the bed, bringing Benjamin closer so Dean doesn’t need to tire himself with holding his arm up. “The assassins attacked nearly a fortnight ago.” She explains. “You’ve been unconscious for half that time.”

“It was a poisoned blade.” Sam explains quickly before Dean can ask. “The healers didn’t even know. They assumed it was an infection and you only fell sick from the strain of being wounded.” His voice drops into a quiet whisper. “You were at death’s _door_ , Dean.”

“Poison?” Dean’s question is flat and he looks between the both of them with a tired frown.

Castiel briefly worries that a conversation like this, so soon after Dean has woken, will only tire him out more. Even if Dean is awake now, he still needs to rest. It will be a while yet before he’s well enough to even get out of the bed. Perhaps it would be best that he doesn’t know Castiel is here for a while longer. Apparently Lisa and Sam do not share the same opinion as him.

“The one who saved your life could explain things better than us.” Lisa explains, tilting her head to where Castiel stands out of sight.

Instead of letting Dean twist in the bed to try and see, Sam reaches out and grabs Castiel’s arm. With one sharp tug, he’s pulled out of his hiding place. The moment Castiel meets Dean’s eyes, he can see his whole expression wipe clean. It’s like a stab in the gut and a slap to the face because Castiel _knows_ now that he has truly made a horrible mistake. He’s starting to close himself off from everyone now, but it’s _Castiel_ that he fixes with a cold stare.

Dean’s voice is hollow and makes him flinch with just one word. “ _Castiel_.”


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I want to return.” He answers softly, masking the sharp pain in his chest. Castiel was the cause of this and now he wants nothing more than to fix it. “But as much as I want that for your safety, I will only do so with your permission, my King.”
> 
> His words only make Dean look more unhappy and he slides further down his pillows, looking away. “Don’t – don’t do that. Stop calling me that.” He takes a deep breath and glances back at Castiel, hope plain in his eyes. “You know my name.”

No sooner has he said Castiel’s name does Dean look away from him, staring toward the end of his bed. His hands curl into shaking fists over his lap and Castiel does the same, both trying to stop the trembling of their hands. Even though Dean is trying so hard to keep his expression blank, Castiel knows him. He can see the tightness around his eyes and the twitch of his bottom lip. What he heard as _anger_ is nothing of the sort.

This is _sadness_ and it breaks Castiel’s heart to see it.

He wants to address it and fix it and make sure that Dean is never sad again, but at the moment he cannot. By using his full name, Dean has made this moment formal. Dean has outlined where they stand now. He is a King and Castiel is nothing more than his servant again. There are rules to observe now, even if he is only in the presence of family. As much as Castiel hates to admit it, the friendship they once had has been broken. He can only hope that it’s not too late to repair it.

No sooner has he dropped to one knee and bowed his head, does Dean make an unhappy noise that devolves into a harsh cough. Castiel looks up sharply, ready to assist, but Sam is already handing him the cup of water again. Dean’s lungs have been damaged by the poison. His breathing will be rough at first, but he should adjust over time – though more strenuous activities will be beyond him now. How lucky for Dean that he never has to run anywhere. But any grappling or training by sword that they might have in the future will need to be changed to take into account this alternation to Dean’s health.

No, he shouldn’t expect that. Castiel is thinking of an future that is currently uncertain. He doesn’t even know if Dean will allow him to stay. It’s terrifying not knowing what’s going to happen and whether or not Dean even wants him anymore. All he can do is wait and steel himself for what is coming next.

Once Dean is able to speak again, his voice has a little more rasp to it than it did before. “Don’t do that.”

He sounds exasperated, as though all Castiel is doing is upsetting him more. As much as it makes him worry, there is nothing Castiel can do at the moment. A servant in front of his King needs to prostrate himself until he is given permission to stand and address him. It would be improper of him to move before then.  

“What’s going on?” Sam asks quietly, confusion filling his words. He’s never seen Castiel bow to anyone besides his father before, let alone to _Dean_.

“Stand _up_ , Cas.” Dean hisses in the silence that follows. “For God’s sake, you have my damn _permission_.” He’s getting worked up and Castiel feels terrible for being the cause of it, even though he’s pleased to hear Dean call him by the name _he_ gave him again.

When Castiel stands again, Dean is not the only one who looks upset. Lisa is glancing between the two of them, an unhappy frown creasing her pretty face. Sam reflects her expression, though his confusion is more predominant. He never did like what few times that Castiel and Dean have fought over the years. This last year was likely almost as hard for him as it was for the rest of them. But Dean – _Dean_ looks more distraught than when he first saw that Castiel was here.

“I’m glad to see you awake, my Lord.” He says softly, hoping to ease Dean’s displeasure and break the tension that has settled like a fog in the room. “You had everyone very worried for some time there. It will be a –”

Dean sighs loudly, interrupting him. “What are you doing here, Cas?” He settles heavily into the pillows and fixes him with a weary, miserable look.

Castiel glances nervously to Lisa and Sam, unsure of what to say and hoping that they might have some kind of suggestion. They both look back at him with the same confused faces and he realizes this is something he needs to do on his own. He swallows around the lump in his throat and looks to Dean again. “It appears that my replacements were not as suitable as I first thought they were.”

“Thank you for stating the obvious.” The frustration is started to seep out of Dean and he’s looking more and more tired. He needs to rest again and if nothing had been fractured between them, Castiel would insist that he sleep before they continue this conversation. But Dean is resolute and he crosses his arms over his bare chest. “What are you doing here, Cas?”

His nerves are back with a vengeance and they’ve only brought more friends. It’s making Castiel feel queasy and he shifts on his feet slightly, trying not to fidget. “Your safety has always been my highest priority, my King. And if I am the only one who can keep you safe, then I –” He takes a deep breath and prays that Dean won’t make this more difficult than it needs to be. “Then if you’ll have me, I would like to return to your side.”

Disbelief chases away the fatigue as Dean’s eyes widen in surprise. Perhaps it’s Castiel imagination, but he would like to believe that there is hope hidden in them too. He doesn’t get a good enough look to confirm this as Dean’s expression gives way to confusion and ultimately settles on a simmering anger. It makes Castiel’s hope pitch into despair and a vice closes around his heart again. It’s true, isn’t it? He made it in time to save Dean’s life, but he was too late to save his most precious of relationships.

Just as Dean opens his mouth to say something, Lisa interrupts. She clears her throat loudly while switching Benjamin to her other hip, moving him out of Dean’s reach. “In case you’re about to make a poor decision, I feel you should know that I have already asked Castiel to come home.” Dean looks to her sharply, mouth still open and she continues to speak over him. “You know that _nobody_ is more capable of keeping you safe than he is.”

No sooner has she finished speaking does Dean start struggling to sit up. He turns to Lisa and Sam with an unflinching glare. “But I’m the _King_.”

It isn’t an outright ‘ _no_ ’, but Castiel still feels like the bubble of hope he had has been completely deflated. He’s ruined everything to the point that even with his life on the line, Dean doesn’t want him around him anymore. Castiel would take no issue if Dean no longer loved him like he once confessed he did. But to not want him to even be _around_ him – it’s a physical ache in his chest and he braces himself for Dean’s outright refusal.

Sam shakes his head and places a hand on Dean’s shoulder, gently pushing him back into the pillows. “You’ve been out voted.” His voice is sharp and his eyes are narrowed in a warning glare, daring Dean to speak out against him.

The anger in Dean’s eyes only flares brighter. “You can’t out vote a _King_!”

Lisa hands Benjamin to Sam, nearly pushing him out the way while she leans over Dean. “And I am your _Queen_. You just _try_ and tell me that you’re going to endanger your life and leave Ben without a father just because your affections have been scorned and you can’t handle it.”

Castiel winces as the words and her tone. If it were his place, he would chide her for only aggravating Dean – which is a terrible thing to do in his current state. But he keeps his tongue and waits for the shock to pass. He has to fight the urge to continue shifting uncomfortably as Dean and Lisa glare at one another, waiting to see whose resolve will crumble first.

Finally, Dean sighs and he rubs a hand over his face. The fight has almost completely gone out of him as he sinks into the pillows again. “Give us the room.”

Victorious, Lisa takes Benjamin from Sam and gestures for him to follow. She doesn’t leave without giving both Castiel and Dean another narrowed eyed glare. It’s one that promises nothing but trouble if she returns to find that things have not been properly discussed between them yet. Sam bears the same expression and he looks pointedly at Dean before he tilts his head toward Castiel. The door booms shut behind them and an awkward silence descends in the room.

Dean crosses his arms again, his bottom lip jutting out in a slight pout. Now is a terrible time for Castiel to find it adorable, but it’s been so long since he’s had to deal with Dean’s attitude. He hasn’t sulked like this since he was much younger and Castiel is finding it rather nostalgic. It makes him long for a time when things were so much simpler between the two of them – a time before he knew how he felt for Dean or how Dean feels for him. That was before things became so very _complicated_.

The chair sits next to the bed, waiting for Castiel to make himself comfortable for the discussion they need to have now, but he can’t bring himself to remain stationary. Dean needs some time to himself now to figure out what he wants to speak about first. While Dean stares stubbornly at the mounds of his feet under the blankets, Castiel makes his way across the room to draw the curtains back from the window and let the afternoon light in.

He waits at the doors to the balcony, looking out at the castle walls beyond the garden and the river past that. The coming conversation is going to be hard on Dean and Castiel knows it. Dean is hurt. He’s angry and having to accept that Castiel wants to return now might be considered a blow to his pride considering that he has been denied twice with his affections. It’s been a year since Castiel left, but he knows how to handle this – he knows how to handle _Dean_. In this case, it is best that he simply wait for Dean to come to him.

Now it is just a matter of waiting until Dean is ready. Then and only then will they be able to talk. Their relationship is too fractured for Castiel to push at what he broke. And that is painful knowledge he knows will haunt him for ages to come. It is a burden he will bear and all he can do is wait and hope that Dean will forgive him for his foolishness. He can only hope that he will be welcomed back to the only place that has felt like home to him since he left it. He can only hope that they can reach some sort of understanding so he can _stay_.

There is no way Castiel can leave Dean like this again. He just isn’t _safe_. If Castiel left for the tribe lands, his conscience would never let him rest. He would worry about Dean constantly and forever be waiting for a messenger to come bearing the news of his death. It would be Castiel’s worst nightmare and his constant anxiety would only distract him in his own daily duites – let alone during his own missions. For his own safety and Dean’s, Castiel needs – _wants_ to – stay.

After an extended silence, Dean sighs and looks to him, eyes tired and voice so very _broken_. “Why are you – What do you want, Cas?”

“I want to return.” He answers softly, masking the sharp pain in his chest. Castiel was the cause of this and now he wants nothing more than to fix it. “But as much as I want that for your safety, I will only do so with your permission, my King.”

His words only make Dean look more unhappy and he slides further down his pillows, looking away. “Don’t – don’t do that. Stop calling me that.” He takes a deep breath and glances back at Castiel, hope plain in his eyes. “You know my name.”

Castiel had been hoping they would be able to keep things impersonal. It would help so much in keeping their feelings for one another in check. But Dean looks so desperate to hear it. How can Castiel deny him now? How can he not give _himself_ the feeling of release with just saying one name?

With a deep breath, Castiel says the one word always resting on his tongue. “ _Dean_.”

It has the same effect on Dean that it has on him. He can see Dean relax, sinking lower again with a content sigh. After a few moments, he looks back to Castiel. “What happens if I say ‘yes’? What will happen if you do come back?”

“I would like to return to my duties as they were before.” He crosses the room to sit in chair next to the bed, though he looks down at his hands, folded in his lap instead of at Dean. Of course there is more that Castiel wants, but those are things he has long come to accept as things he cannot have. “I will protect and watch over you, and I will ensure that your day runs smoothly.”

Those terms sound good to him, but they only make Dean’s frown grow deeper. “And are we just going to forget everything else?”

He knows exactly what Dean means by that and Castiel finds it hard to look at him again. “That would be best. My reasons for leaving haven’t changed, but I understand that removing myself from your life was the wrong choice to make.” The bed rustles and Castiel looks up, meeting Dean’s eyes as he struggles to sit up again. “I thought that if I remained, you would only push harder for what I cannot give you. If I were to give in to the feelings that I have for you, there would be so many risks to your throne and potentially your life – so many consequences because of my selfishness. I couldn’t – I _can’t_ risk it.”

“You already told me this.” Dean huffs, his pout returning in full. “Why are you –”

“I’m trying to make you understand.” Castiel says softly, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. “When I left, all I could focus on was keeping you safe from your people by removing what had become a danger to your life; _me_. I disregarded the fact that it is _my_ duty to watch over you and keep you safe. I ran because I feared my own weakness that I might not be able to refuse you again. I was a coward and I can only beg your forgiveness for my folly.”

A sharp laugh punches out of Dean’s chest and it is immediately followed by a rough cough. Castiel pours him more water and waits until Dean can breathe and speak again. When he can, Dean fixes him with a flat look. “You don’t know that my people would –”

“Even if your people might accept that you have a male lover – especially now that you have sired an heir – how could they possibly accept an Aladaï _servant_?” He snaps, sitting back sharply. Castiel catches himself from continuing in that tone and takes a deep breath to calm himself. Hopefully, what he asks is not more than what Dean will be able to give. “If you want me to return, I would be coming back as your ally – and hopefully as your friend again.”

Dean’s expression pulls tight and he scrubs both hands over his face. “And you expect me to just forget how we feel for each other? I’m just supposed to continue every day having you beside me, knowing that you want me too but never being able to touch you?”

“Yes.” It isn’t fair. Not for Dean and not for him. But it is what is _necessary_.

“ _No_.” He hisses, the one word causing an ache to spring up in Castiel’s chest.

If Dean doesn’t understand, if he doesn’t accept these terms, then Castiel knows he can’t return and he will be left at a loss for what to do. “Dean –”

“I said ‘ _no_ ’.” Dean rasps again, struggling to sit up and only stopping when Castiel puts a hand on his shoulder to keep him down. “My people and the Aladaï have been allies for more than half my life, Cas. It’s been over ten years of peace. If anyone has a problem with your race, then we can explain that relations between our people can only be _improved_ if you were my lover.”

He grabs at Castiel’s wrist, squeezing it as tightly as his weakened hands will allow. “I can fix any issue with your status too. You’ve done more than enough for me and my family to deserve a noble title. I can Knight you, or make you a landless lord. And I’ve been talking to the council about the benefits of an Aladaï ambassador. You could become a member of my court and –”

“ _Dean_.” Castiel cuts him off, heat filling his face at the intensity and enthusiasm in his words.

How long has Dean been thinking about this? He has so many answers so quickly that it’s done nothing but catch Castiel off guard – and give life to his hope again. It’s not possible that he’s truly serious about this, is it? Does being with him matter that much to Dean that he’s spent the last year trying to find ways around everything that Castiel had decided is what keeps them apart? The onslaught of Dean’s information leaves him stunned and Castiel settles back in his chair, staring at him openly.

The grip on his wrist slackens slightly, but Dean doesn’t let go. Castiel finds himself putting a hand over his, intent on pulling it away but stopping before he can carry through. Despite the fatigue in his eyes, Dean’s voice is firm. “I know you care about what the people will think, but I’ve spent the last year working on everything you said was keeping you away because I want you _here_ , Cas. Here with me.”

He shakes his head when Castiel opens his mouth, cutting him off. “Just – just think about it, okay? If you can honestly tell me that you want to continue being nothing more than my protector and my friend, then fine. I can live with that. I’d rather have you with me as that then nothing at all. And no matter what, I want you to be at my side not as a servant but as – well, unless you’re a King too the court won’t actually see you as my equal, but I don’t want you to have to _serve_ me anymore.”

With an exhausted sigh, he finally falls silent. It doesn’t take long for a flush to rise in Dean’s cheeks and Castiel is momentarily worried that the stress of this excitement has brought his fever back– until he realizes that it is a blush. Dean glances down to where their hands are resting together on Castiel’s wrist and he sighs softly, giving it a small squeeze. “I’ve missed you, Cas.”

Without thinking, Castiel tightens the hold he has over Dean’s hand. The words are in his throat, ready to be said to assure Dean that he missed him too – so much that every day hurt to be away from him. But his small gesture is all it takes for Dean to relax almost completely and he settles against the pillows heavily, his eyes drooping. Castiel smiles softly and extracts his wrist from his loosening grip.

It hasn’t been long since Dean woke up, but it has been a stressful and emotionally tense time since then. He needs his rest now and Castiel should say nothing more that might rile him up again. Even so, after having Dean drink another few sips of water and tucking him back into the bed comfortably, he can’t help taking his hand again for another tight squeeze, just to affirm that even though everything is not completely fine between them again, they are both still _here_.

Dean blinks up at him with a tired, happy smile. “Are you going to stay?”

“Yes.” Castiel murmurs quietly, tightening the hold on his hand again. “I know I broke my word to you regarding that once before, but I will do my best to earn your trust again.” He bows over the edge of the bed until his brow touches Dean’s knuckles. Even though he whispers the words into the blankets, he knows that Dean hears them. “I missed you too much to be able to leave you again.”

A hum is his answer and Dean’s other hand settles lightly in Castiel’s hair for a moment before it slides to the bed again. Slowly, so as not to startle him, Castiel slips away from the edge of the bed and crosses the room on silent feet to the door. Lisa and Sam are waiting outside and the healers, though dismissed before, are there again and whispering heatedly amongst themselves. They fall silent at a glance from their Queen and shuffle off further down the hall at a look from Sam.

“Well?” Lisa prompts, bouncing Benjamin in her arms. “How did it go?”

“I’m staying.” Castiel barely has the words out before Sam is tugging him into a happy hug. He returns it in kind, though he is distracted with looking around the corridor for another servant. “I would like to get more soup for him to eat before he completely falls asleep again. Just broth will do for now. And when he’s sleeping, I would like to speak with the healers. As unsurprising as it is that they didn’t know this poison, they should be coached in how to recognize and treat it – amongst a variety of others that I’ve learned about while I was gone.”

Sam’s hold around him tightens almost to the point that Castiel finds it hard to breathe. “You can do that later. You’re _home_ again – let’s enjoy that first.”

And that is a request Castiel does not mind accepting.

*

The messenger that Castiel sends back to the Aladaï lands the same day that Dean woke up returns surprisingly quickly – not more than a handful of days later. He had left carrying a letter of explanation that Castiel will not be returning and an apology for making this decision without the permission he should have sought. Gabriel’s response comes not on a scroll but rather by the messenger’s mouth and it is nothing more than loud laughter. Castiel doesn’t properly understand it, but as long as his Chieftain is not upset with him, then he is happy.

In the many days that it takes Dean to recuperate, Castiel divides his time between making the adjacent servant’s room his own again and refreshing himself with the ways of the castle. Regardless of what Dean’s plans are for his status, there are certain things that he is certain he will never be able to stop doing. Waking up before Dean to prepare his day is one such thing, and he pointedly ignores all of Dean’s complaints when it’s a different servant who helps him to bathe while he’s still bedridden.

That particular instance is very similar to how Sam ignores Castiel’s objections to having the door of his bedroom removed. He insists that it is so Castiel can be at Dean’s side in an instant, but his reasoning is doubtful purely by the very fact that he has the entrance to his own bedroom sealed over. It is made all the more obvious that Sam’s reasons are fabricated when he is caught explaining to the castle staff that for Dean’s safety, Castiel will be locking his bedroom doors from the inside and he will be the only one with a key.

When confronted, Sam’s answer comes with a grin. “When – or if – you accept that a relationship between you and Dean is possible, I’m just giving you a logical excuse for no one being able to disturb the two of you unannounced.”

Sam means well, but he knows nothing of the riot taking place inside Castiel. His mind is logical and continues to insist that even if Dean changes his status, nothing about how the Church has convinced the people to view homosexual relationships will change – and his race will still be Aladaï. Prejudices are not easily forgotten. His argument is still sound and leaving Dean’s side had seemed like the best of choices at the time his decision was first made. He can see that he was wrong now.

But his heart wants Dean with a desperation that catches Castiel by surprise. He is _so close_ to having everything that he’s ever desired. He and Dean have settled into their routines again almost as though nothing has happened, despite how Dean is confined to his bed. There are still many things that they need to work through again – trust to be earned back and bridges that had been burned to rebuild. Castiel has many promises he once made that need to be upheld and fulfilled – though that will certainly take some time. It will take the rest of his life, in fact, and that is surprisingly the easiest decision that Castiel has had to make since his return.

It is a simple task to grasp that he loves Dean and that Dean loves him. He accepted that before he ever left. But is that something they can truly have? If Dean _does_ manage to fix the problems with his people – if this becomes something they _can_ have – _that_ is what Castiel truly has problems coming to terms with. There were some very big obstacles keeping them apart. What could Dean possibly have done in the last year that would fix them all?

He never truly expected to have an answer to that question, but he receives one before Dean is even properly well again. It takes Dean half a fortnight to be able to stay awake throughout the whole day, though Castiel still refuses to allow him to leave his bed chamber. All that Dean can manage to do is hobble around the room with some assistance – Castiel never far from his side. On more than one occasion, he has to nearly carry him back to his bed purely because Dean is too stubborn to relent when his body is ready to give out on him.

The moment he can go a whole day without sleeping, Dean starts working again. He summons his council to his bedroom and they launch into discussions that have been tabled since he fell ill. For the most part, Castiel doesn’t listen. He meditates in a corner of the room, sparing only enough of his attention to keep a watchful eye on Dean while he thinks about all the choices and paths laid before him. The dealings with the councilors are as boring as they ever were and Castiel only listens when he hears mention of himself or the Aladaï.

Dean is completely bent on giving Castiel some form of title and there is nothing he can say to stop it – not that he wants to. But what truly piques his interest occurs in the late hours of one particular evening not long before Dean’s health has all but fully recovered. When Dean should be done with his daily tasks and resting, he calls a cloaked woman to his room – someone that Castiel neither knows nor recognizes. He gives Dean a curious look as he lets her in.

“Charlie!” The excitement in Dean’s voice catches Castiel by surprise as he sits up in the bed. “What news do you have for me?”

“The people don’t like it when their King passes out unexpectedly.” She responds flatly, pulling the hood from her head and revealing a shock of vibrantly red hair. “I’ll have you know that you scared the piss out of everyone. You’re much too liked for your own good, your highness.”

Castiel stands at the end of the bed, looking expectantly back and forth between Dean and this _Charlie_. Who is she and what relation does she have to Dean? Her tone is far more casual with him than Castiel would expect from anyone besides himself and Dean’s family. Thankfully, it doesn’t take long for Dean to notice his curiosity.

“This is Charlotte.” He gestures at Charlie. “I wouldn’t call her that unless you want your darkest secrets found out and spread throughout the kingdom. Charlie, this is Cas.”

“Charmed.” She holds out her hand for Castiel to shake, a gesture Castiel has not often seen a woman do within the Lowlands. “I’ve heard a lot about you. I never thought I’d get to meet the man who stole our King’s heart.” Her smile grows into a wide grin when Castiel can only stare at her, mouth agape. “Oh, don’t worry. It’s our little secret.”

Dean looks delighted that he has managed, yet again, to surprise him. “I told you, I’ve been busy while you were gone. Charlie is my eyes and ears throughout the kingdom and she’s been gathering intelligence for me.”

“Intelligence about what?”

“About the people.” Charlie shrugs and sprawls out in the chair next to the bed. “I’ve been charged with finding out how many like our King – and I can assure you that you’re very popular in the best of ways –and the task of finding out what the people really think of the Church and just how many people there are like me, like you, and like our dear King.” She tilts her head toward Dean.

That only makes Castiel frown more. What is that supposed to mean? He looks to Dean where he’s making himself more comfortable against the pillows. “Like us?”

“People who are attracted to members of the same sex.” She explains, glancing to Dean every so often as though she is expecting him to stop her from explaining. “I’ve been finding out just how much of the kingdom would like to be with men and women regardless of their own sex without the guilt the Church shovels on us. It would be nice to walk down the street holding my lover’s hand without having the ardent believers jeer at us. As it turns out, a decent chunk of the populace doesn’t care.”

“Good.” Dean smiles, his eyes bright and calculating. “That will make things easier. That means more than half the kingdom is unhappy with the Church. They like believing in a God, but the Holy Book has too many contradictions. I’ve been studying it, you know? According to it, God is the one who created as all, and He’s supposed to love us. But in the same book, He turns around and says that our love is wrong.” He looks at Castiel, expression serious. “How can my love for you be wrong? Why would He have made it possible for me to love you and want you as I do if He was only going to forbid it?”

Castiel almost wants to laugh. That’s everything he’s been trying to explain to Dean since he started learning about what the Church teaches. Charlie looks pleased and she smiles happily at Dean. It warms Castiel’s heart to know that the majority of the kingdom loves their King regardless of how withdrawn he has been during the last year. But as nice as knowing that is, there are still many questions plaguing him about this new information.

“Are you going to try and _fix_ the Church, then?” He asks, seating himself on the edge of the bed since Charlie took his chair. “I doubt the populace will like it much if you take away their houses of worship.”

“That’s where things get fun.” A wide grin cracks across Dean’s face and he launches into an explanation of his plans.

The rest of the evening is spent listening to Dean go on at length – with additional information supplied occasionally by Charlie – about his plans for uprooting the current Church. Apparently another King in a land Castiel has barely heard anything of has established his own branch of the Church because their rules did not fit how he chose to live his life. Dean plans to do the same. While they will still worship the same God, Dean’s branch of the Church will welcome all people regardless of who they love.

It has been Charlie’s job in the last year to find out what people think of this. She’s passed between towns and the main city to determine how much of the populace would be interested in a new branch of the Church, determined through conversation where she has been subtly bringing up this distant King’s changes. So far, she has heard mostly positive responses. There are, of course, those who don’t like change – such as the older councilors who are stuck in their ways – but everything that Charlie talks about only fuels Castiel’s hope that things might very well work out for them, though it will take time.

That evening spent in Charlie’s company greatly influences Castiel’s decision making. This time, it doesn’t feel like there is a time frame he has to make the decision in. Even so, he waits. It doesn’t feel right to say anything while Dean is still bedridden, even though Castiel’s decision was made well before that. He waits until the time comes when Dean is capable of spending the whole day out of his bed, pacing the room and building his strength again while he makes his plans and takes care of the rulings of the kingdom.

This is the Dean that Castiel knows and loves. His strong will and tireless devotion to everything important to him is all that Castiel missed while he was in the tribe lands. The task Dean has taken upon himself to start his own branch of the Church may have started for selfish reasons, but now he is trying to make a difference. If he didn’t care for his people, he would never have found Charlie or sent her out into the lands to make sure that this was something they would want too. Dean is doing something _good_ for his people and Castiel has never been more proud of him.

Which is why, on that day, Castiel gathers his courage and does what he was never able to do before. It feels like he’s falling from a great height when he locks the doors for the night. His head feels dizzy and his hands shake slightly with his nerves as he inspects Dean’s healing wound before he leaves him to change into his nightclothes. The trembling only gets worse as Castiel locks the doors to the balcony and draws the curtains closed. No matter how many deep breaths he takes, his heart only beats harder while he puts out the candles and adds another log to the fire in the grate.

There is only one candle left in the room and it sits on the table next to the bed where Dean is making himself comfortable. Castiel helps to fix the blankets around him before he reaches for the wick, intent on pinching the flame from existence. He only pauses when Dean gives him a hopeful look, just as he has done every night since he woke up as though he is waiting for the answer that sits on the back of Castiel’s tongue. But the only words that he speaks when he puts out the candle are not the ones he’s been thinking of saying all day.

“Sleep well, Dean.”

With a nearly inaudible sigh, Dean curls on his side and pulls the blanket up over his shoulder. “Good night, Cas. I’ll see you in the morning?”

“I’ll be right here.”

And Castiel means that literally. The words may not be coming to him now, but he is perfectly capable of actions. At this point in their routine Castiel would usually retire to his own bed for the night. Tonight is different. Tonight he is giving Dean his answer. Tonight he is ready to let him know that he wants to _try_ , and he does it by finding his way to the other side of the bed by the light of the fire. He’s barely lifted the corner of the blankets before Dean is looking over his shoulder, shadowed surprise painted obviously across his face even in the dark.

Without a word, Castiel carefully slides under the blankets. He doesn’t bother with removing his clothing. That is something he’s not sure he’ll be able to do for some time yet. But lying next to Dean throughout the night is something he and Dean have both wanted for years and he will allow them both this one thing for now. Time will tell if he will be able to allow himself to take or offer more than just this – especially depending on how well the kingdom takes to the changes that Dean is in the process of making.

The soft fabric of a King’s blankets makes Castiel feel oddly out of place while he settles under them. His heart is beating erratically and he can hardly breathe while he stares at the ceiling. He can feel the bed shift as Dean turns to face him properly, laying much closer than the size of the bed should entail. With another deep breath to steel himself, Castiel turns too and reaches across the space between them. His hand finds Dean’s chest first and he thinks nothing of curling his fingers in the fabric of his nightshirt.

Carefully, as though he thinks any sudden movements might spook him, Dean shuffles a little closer on the bed. He can only go as far as Castiel will let him and he tenses his arm to hold him back. This is close enough for now. He’s slept in the same bed as Dean many times while he was growing up – during nightmares and after attempts on his life. This is still safe for them both and Castiel can accept it. Hopefully, Dean will be able to as well.

He is nearly startled by the gentle touch to the back of his other hand. Dean has sought it out under the blankets where it lies between them. His touch is cautious, curious, and Castiel spreads his fingers to him. A pleasant tingle spreads up his arm as Dean slides their fingers together, squeezing his hand tightly. Even in the semi-light of the fire, Castiel can still see Dean’s smile. He can’t remember the last time he ever saw him look this happy.

This is not the first time that Castiel falls asleep in Dean’s bed. Nor is it the first time that Dean holds onto him in the dark. But tonight is the first night that Castiel closes his eyes and drifts off to sleep holding onto Dean.

And he is never going to let him go again.


	14. Epilogue: To Kiss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean merely grins. “I told you there were plenty of other places I could kiss.” He pulls Castiel’s hand away to kiss his palm. “I’ve never met anyone ten years my senior who blushes as lovely as you do.”

There are some habits that Castiel doubts he will ever be able to break. One of them is waking up earlier than Dean. After ten years of doing it to start preparing Dean's day, he's spent the last year doing it for training. It’s a habit practically bred into him. Even after spending the last several nights in Dean's bed, Castiel still finds himself waking at the same time every day. It is, in his opinion, not much of a bad thing. In fact, Castiel has a new found appreciation for these wee hours of the morning.

When he wakes, Castiel is always treated to the sight of the drapery that Dean has taken to closing around his bed at night. It shuts them away from prying eyes even more so than the curtains over the windows and the turned lock in the door. Castiel adores it. With the drapes closed, he can fool himself into believing that he and Dean are the only two people in the world. Things would be so much easier between them if that were true.

He doubts that Dean has truly forgiven him for leaving as he did, but Dean does well with hiding any retained unhappiness. If anything, his King is nothing but radiant smiles whenever Castiel looks at him. Even when he is asleep, Dean looks happy. Sam insists that it's Castiel's doing, but he can't fathom what he has done that could possibly make Dean look so delighted all the time.

It isn’t even as though their routine has changed since his return. The only true difference is that now Castiel wakes next to him. Though, in some instances Castiel would say that he wakes up with Dean _on top_ of him. He had never realized that Dean was so – so very _clingy_ in his sleep. Whenever Castiel had slept beside him as Dean was growing up, it was just one hand that he would twist in Castiel's shirt during the night. It is highly possible that he was merely holding himself back from touching Castiel any more than that, given his feelings. Although, for that to be plausible, Dean's feelings for him would have had to have started _much_ earlier in his life than Castiel first thought – wouldn't it? It’s a thought that warms him and terrifies him.

Sharing a bed with someone on a consistent, nightly, basis has been a new experience for Castiel. He finds that he doesn't mind it very much. There is a certain level of comfort to be received from waking up with Dean pressed up against him in some way. Whether it is against Castiel's back or his side, Dean will be wrapped around him in some way. More than once when they have laid down together to go to sleep, Castiel has thought about turning Dean on his side and curving himself against his back. Aside from being able to hold Dean while he sleeps, it is one of the more protective positions that Castiel can think to sleep in – one where he would be able to shield Dean better than anything else.

He has not been able to bring himself to ask Dean to sleep like that yet, but Castiel does not mind it. How they end up sleeping when he wakes up is rarely how they were when they fell asleep. Last night, when Castiel had closed his eyes, they were facing each other with very little room between them. In that space, their knees had been touching and their hands had been clasped together. This morning, when he wakes, Castiel is on his back and his arm has found its way around Dean's shoulders during the night. His other hand is resting over the arm Dean has thrown around his waist.

Castiel's entire right side is warmer than his left, purely because Dean is pressed so tightly against him. One of his legs is even thrown over Castiel's legs, his foot resting between them. His head is on Castiel's chest, rising and falling with every breath taken. Soft snores are being muffled into Castiel's shirt and he is fairly certain that he can feel a wet spot through the fabric. Dean is very likely _drooling_ on him and it brings a smile to his face.

The last thing that Castiel wants to do right now is leave the warmth of the blankets and Dean's body, but there are things to do and his own comfort cannot distract him from them. With a heavy heart, Castiel begins the arduous process of trying to extract himself from Dean's hold without waking him. First he runs a hand through Dean's hair in a gentle, soothing touch meant to prevent him from waking. In the same motion, Castiel tries to guide Dean's head from its place on his chest.

No sooner has he managed to lift his head slightly does Dean tighten his hold. He grumbles and turns his face into Castiel's chest, pressing it into the folds of his shirt. Castiel holds his breath and does his best not to move, waiting to see if he truly woke him or not. When Dean does nothing else and appears to still be sleeping, Castiel breathes a sigh of relief and decides to try his luck with moving the arm currently his waist.

Before he has even fully closed his fingers around Dean's wrist, there's a rumble against his side. “How many times do I have to say that I want you _here_ when I wake up?”

His silent mission has failed and Castiel sighs, though there is a smile on his lips. “You are awake now and I'm still here.” He can't recall if he ever smiled this much first thing in the morning before he started sharing Dean's bed.

“You know what I mean, Cas.” Dean mumbles again, lifting his head to rest his chin on Castiel's chest to squint at him sleepily in the dark.

Castiel resists the urge to drag his fingertips along Dean’s cheek, or even to run his hand through his hair again. “But I need to bathe and start heating your bath water. And the cooks need to know what meals you should have today. As well, I need to –”

“There are other servants who can do that.” Even in the dark, Castiel can see Dean's tired frown. This is a conversation that they have had every morning so far.

“At least allow me to get up and find someone to get the preparations started.”

“No. Just –” Dean is interrupted by a yawn and he turns his head to rest his cheek on Castiel's chest again. “Just _stay_ , Cas. We can start a little late today.”

With a sigh, Castiel relents and relaxes. He can't even bring himself to be upset about it. Being allowed to sleep in, even at the request of his King, is a commodity he has not often been allowed in his life. It's rather nice. Especially when Dean gives him a victorious grin and wiggles impossibly closer. He even takes his hand, moving his arm so they can interlace their fingers over Castiel's stomach. It makes his heart shiver happily, if not a little guiltily for only being able to enjoy it in the silence of the bedroom.

There are many things that have not yet been addressed between them. By unspoken agreement they make no mention of this alteration to their relationship once they leave the bedroom. They have yet to even speak about this change or any others that may or may not happen. The only change made has been to their sleeping habits, even though Castiel knows that Dean wants more. Of course, Castiel has his own wants as well.

A part of him wants to show to the world that he is no longer running from anything. He wants to show everyone that he has accepted both his feelings for Dean and Dean's feelings for him. But he doesn't know how to do that and he certainly can't do it until he deems that it won’t bring Dean any harm when the kingdom learns of their relationship they are quickly heading towards.

As much as he tells himself that he will never have a relationship where he has to keep it a secret, Castiel still wants one with Dean. Thus far, he has managed to find a place balanced in between the friendship they once had and the relationship they could have. That place is here, holding each other in Dean's bed. They have not gone beyond this in any other aspect of their changing relationship, and because of it Castiel is able to fool himself that they don't have one. If they are nothing more than friends who hold each other at night – then there is nothing for him to want to tell anyone.

If he doesn't kiss Dean or touch him sexually, then Castiel isn't putting him in danger by loving him and accepting his love in return. Taking their relationship beyond this would make it _real_. It would put Dean's life at risk during a time when his kingdom is simply not prepared for that kind of announcement. As it is, Castiel is still only a servant. Dean is making the arrangements to inform the kingdom and surrounding lands that Castiel is being granted the status of an Ambassador of the Aladaï – though he is still waiting on permission from Gabriel for that.

In addition, Dean is arranging to have the existing Churches in his land convert to his new branch or be expelled from his kingdom. It's an arduous task and there will certainly be many people who speak out against it, but Dean is adamant that this will be done. He wants his people to all be happy and he doesn’t believe that it’s possible when they follow a Church that preaches about a God who loves selectively and leaves so many of the kingdom feeling guilty for their feelings.

Dean is a good King and Castiel is proud of him for everything that he is doing. While Dean returns to the soft sounds of sleep, Castiel drifts lazily in the limbo between being awake and dozing off again. He reflects on everything that Dean is planning on doing and silently hopes that it all works out. It would be painful beyond reason to be allowed _this_ with Dean, but be unable to allow himself to ever have anything more because of the barrier he’s placed in his own head.

But lying with Dean like this is nice. This is more than Castiel ever thought he would have and he is _very_ happy with it. Especially when he deems enough time has passed and it’s time to wake Dean up to prepare for their day. He rolls onto his side, dislodging Dean from the hold he has on him, and sits up. With a groan, Dean continues the roll onto his back and stretches with a loud yawn. Like always in the morning, Dean is slow to start moving.

In the time it takes Castiel to change clothing in his unused bedroom and freshen up with the bowl of water there, Dean has barely moved. He groans loudly when Castiel pulls the curtains back from the balcony doors to let the light of the rising sun through, and he groans again when the drapes that surround the bed are tied back too. Dean’s squint filled frown falls away into a smile as he yawns and rubs his eyes, looking up at Castiel from the pillows. Every morning is filled with smiles and Castiel treasures each one of them.

Slowly, while favouring his left side, Dean sits up and swings his legs over the edge of the bed. Before he stands, he reaches for Castiel’s hands and takes both of them in his. Dean lifts them to his mouth and presses a kiss to the back of each of his hands. He lets his lips linger even as he stands and only lowers Castiel’s hands once they’re eye to eye.

Another smile splits across his face at the blush Castiel can feel spreading across his own. “I like waking up next to you, Cas.”

His heart flutters at those words and Castiel ducks his head. He knows exactly how Dean feels. There has been little in his life that Castiel can compare to the feeling that fills him when he opens his eyes and the first thing he sees is Dean. But being told it makes Castiel’s heart race – and that feeling only increases when Dean leans forward. He knows what Dean wants right now. Dean wants to _kiss him_ and as much as Castiel wants to do that, all it does is incite a nervous panic in his chest and he turns his face away.

Dean sighs softly and squeezes his hands. “When are you going to let me kiss you?”

That is a question with an answer that Castiel does not have. Not yet, at least. Even after the several days they have been sharing a bed, he still does not have a full grasp of _why_ he continues to feel so nervous whenever Dean tries to kiss him. It has happened many times and he wishes he could figure out how to explain to Dean without it sounding embarrassing or ridiculous.

Whenever Dean tries to kiss him, Castiel’s insides feel like they’re dancing. But as weird of a feeling as it is, it isn’t entirely bad. Mixed into it all is a vibrating layer of nerves. He wants to kiss Dean too, but that would take their relationship to a physical level and that is a line that they would never be able to come back to. It makes things _real_ and takes them into a territory that Castiel is wholly unfamiliar with. Everything they have done thus far – holding hands while sharing the same bed – it’s not entirely _new_ and it’s not something he thinks would be much of a threat to Dean as long as they’re careful.

Adding the physical aspect and making this _real_ would only make Castiel constantly worry about how what they do could affect Dean’s throne, both their lives, and their relationship. And this is where Castiel’s worries become more personal and fairly embarrassing. What if he is unable to satisfy Dean? After all, Castiel is fast approaching his thirtieth year and he can barely _hug_ Dean properly, let alone _kiss_ him or do anything further than that.

There are just so many things to think about and worry over. Castiel counts it as a small miracle that he doesn’t think about them in their day to day life. Those thoughts only come crashing back in a stampede of nerves whenever Dean tries to kiss him. It strikes him with such anxiety that Castiel can’t do it. He can’t even bring himself to tell Dean why. And he certainly has no clue about _when_ he’ll be able to allow Dean to kiss him. Maybe he’ll be able to do it when the Church is expelled and the new branch has expanded through the kingdom. That could be quite some time away, but it would certainly give him the time to figure things out.

His answer takes so long to give that Dean merely sighs quietly again. “It’s fine, Cas.” Dean brings his hands to his lips once more to press another kiss to them. “I’ve waited this long to have you. I can wait forever to have all of you.” He drops his hands and steps forward quickly to wrap Castiel in a hug. “Besides, there are other parts of you I can kiss.”

To prove his point, Dean presses a kiss to his shoulder before he steps away with another bright smile on his lips. “I’m more than happy with waking up to you just being _here_ every morning.”

Though that may be what he says, as soon as the door to the bathing room is shut after they get there, Dean’s smile turns teasing. “Have you thought about _joining_ me yet, Cas?” He pulls his night clothes over his head and Castiel immediately looks away.

“I haven’t even accepted your offer to eat my meals at the same table as you. You should know by now that I won’t be doing either for a while yet.” Castiel sighs and dips his hand into the water to check the heat. “You should bathe quickly. We’re already behind in your day and the council will not be happy if they have to wait for you.”

Dean laughs and climbs over the edge of the tub. He sinks into the water with a happy sigh and looks to him hopefully. “You will join me eventually, won’t you?”

“I will.” Castiel smiles reassuringly and reaches out to squeeze Dean’s shoulder. “There are still things I need to come to terms with before I can give everything that you ask of me.” He leans forward to rest his forehead against the back of Dean’s head. “Please do not see my hesitation as a lack of interest.”

A hand closes over his and squeezes. “I don’t. I just want to know where our limits lie.” Dean’s voice pitches into a soft whisper as he brings Castiel’s hands to his mouth again to press kisses to his fingertips. “I don’t want to do anything that might chase you away again.”

“I’m not going anywhere, Dean.” To prove his point, Castiel moves to bring Dean’s hand to his own lips, kissing his knuckles chastly. Before Dean can turn around to say anything more, Castiel steps away quickly and ignores the blush rising in his face. “Now, please hurry with your bath. I’ll be just outside the door finishing my own.”

“Stay in here. There’s more water warming up in the hearth.” Dean gestures toward the embers in the corner, nestled under an iron pot filled with steaming water. “Use that to bathe. I promise I’ll be done by the time you are and I won’t watch.”

Warm water would be preferable to the chilled water that would be drawn from the well for his own bath, and Castiel doesn’t particularly care if Dean sees him naked. Despite that, Castiel still sits on a stool with his back to him, quickly and carefully wiping himself down. He dumps a bucket of water from the pot over his head when he’s finished and rushes to towel himself dry and get dressed before Dean is done. His side is still sore, limiting his mobility – which means that he has needed Castiel’s help with getting dressed in his usual clothing.

One of the few surprises that Castiel has encountered upon his return is that Dean now favours doublets and leggings. They are the very same clothing that the soldiers and Knights wear under their armour. It seems he took a liking to that particular style during his travels to and from the tribe lands. He had explained it to Castiel the first day that he opened the trunk at the end of the bed to fetch his clothing and found only one pair of stockings with matching tunic.

“You have new tattoos.” Dean muses while Castiel dries him off. “There are more feathers than I remember, and they’re darker than the rest – over top of some of your scars.”

“I went on many missions while I was with the tribe again. I earned them.” He shrugs and lifts the doublet. “Let’s get this on. If you’re anywhere near as hungry as I am, I’m sure you would prefer a little more haste right now.”

As if it heard his words, the sound of Dean’s stomach gurgling and rumbling fills the space between them. Dean’s laughter escapes him in a snort and he giggles his way through the remainder of getting dressed. It brings a smile to Castiel’s lips and he can hardly contain his own laughter at the glee Dean takes in such small things.

He missed this.

*

It is a joyous day when Gabriel’s letter finally arrives bearing his seal and granting Castiel the authority to act on his behalf as an ambassador. Dean is nearly ecstatic as he signs the official papers that state the kingdom recognizes his new position. Castiel is unsure about how he feels about it. Of course he’s happy to no longer be call a _servant_ , but it doesn’t feel as though anything will change because of it. That’s his thoughts until Castiel finds out that Dean immediately arranges to have a different servant start preparing his day _and_ Castiel’s.

They are still discussing it when they retire for the evening.

“I am perfectly capable of drawing both our baths.” He insists, holding the door open for Dean to enter the bedroom. “Another servant isn’t required to wake you, or bring you your meals or mine.”

“You’re an _ambassador_ now, Cas.” Dean sighs loudly. This isn’t the first time that they’ve spoken about it. “You’re practically nobility now that I’ve signed those damn papers. You’re not a _servant_ anymore.”

Castiel closes the door sharply, his back to Dean as he locks it with the key he keeps on a string around his neck. “And after being a _servant_ for as long as I have been, I know how much of my day as an abassador can be done on my own without the need of a servant. I can continue taking care of the both of us just fine.”

He isn’t expecting Dean to wrap him in his arms the moment he turns around. Out of a quickly developing habit, Castiel turns his face away, immediately thinking that Dean is going to kiss him. The assumption is not incorrect as Dean _does_ lean in, but instead of lips against his cheek it’s Dean’s forehead and he leans heavily into him.

“Just – could you just go with it, Cas?” Dean mumbles into the nearly non-existent space between them. “The servants are there to make our lives easier. That’s their job and it’s what they’re paid to do.” He lifts his head, eyes wide and pleading. “You’re still my protector, but that doesn’t mean you need to do everything for me. I was taking care of myself while you were gone, you know?”

Hesitantly, Castiel’s hands find Dean’s hips – if only to keep him from pressing up against him completely. “I know, Dean. I also know that you only want another servant to prepare our baths and start our meals so I don’t have to get out of your bed in the morning.”

“Am I that transparent?” He laughs, any frustration melting away from him as he lifts his head. “I’ll do anything I need to if it means that you won’t be slipping from _our_ bed before me.”

The comment Castiel has at the ready slips from his mind when he notices that Dean called it _their_ bed. He had been trying so hard not to think of it as his bed too, trying to keep himself separated enough to believe he isn’t doing anything that could be considered a risk to Dean in any way. But hearing that Dean considers it to be _theirs_ makes his insides squirm in the best of ways again.

He’s almost tempted to let Dean kiss him when he notices that his gaze most certainly dips to his lips.  But when he leans in again, Castiel turns his head and the potential kiss falls just shy of his ear. It’s a pleasant sensation that sends a shiver along his spine. Apparently this does not go unnoticed. Dean goes still for a moment and Castiel can almost feel the smile against his cheek. Before he knows it, Dean’s hold around him tightens.

Castiel takes a deep, surprised breath when Dean presses another rather obvious kiss to his cheek. It is followed almost immediately by several more, each of them placed closely around his ear. Every kiss sends a heated tingle running through Castiel’s bones. When Dean actually catches the lobe of his ear between his teeth, it makes his knees go weak and another shiver wracks through him when Dean actually _sucks_ at it.

This is a spot he never thought would be sensitive and the fact that Dean has discovered it so quickly is both pleasing and surprising. It feels so good that Castiel has to bite back a moan. When he feels the urge for it pressing up against the back of his throat, he has no choice but to break Dean’s hold and shove him back a step. He brings a hand up to cover his ear and his skin is _extremely_ warm – flushed as red as his face feels.

Dean merely grins. “I told you there were plenty of other places I could kiss.” He pulls Castiel’s hand away to kiss his palm. “I’ve never met anyone ten years my senior who blushes as lovely as you do.”

That only makes Castiel flush even darker and Dean’s grin grows. “Yes, just like that. I promise I won’t tease you _too_ much about it.” He tugs at Castiel’s hands, pulling him towards the bed. “Come read to me before we sleep. I ‘ _borrowed_ ’ the book that you gave Sam.”

After what just happened, Castiel should deny him this. But Dean just looks so pleased with himself – and this isn’t exactly something that Castiel should punish. The feeling was new and it surprised him, but was it really bad? He certainly enjoyed it – far more than he thought possible.

He sighs and follows after Dean slowly. “Fine. But please do not exploit this new discovery in the future. It was pleasant, but I –”

“I’ll only do it if you want me to, Cas.” Dean says softly, leaving Castiel to fetch the book from the trunk at the end of his bed. “I promise. Please, read to me?”

Castiel crawls onto the bed to settle against the pillows. He holds his hand out for the book, fully prepared for Dean to sit down next to him. The last thing that he expects is for Dean to crawl up the bed to settle between his legs. They leave the book abandoned on the blankets next to them while Dean stretches out on his stomach, his head pillowed on Castiel’s chest as he wiggles his arms into place around his waist.

Dean lifts his head after a moment of silence. “Is this okay?”

“I can’t read with your head in the way.” He smiles down at him while he picks up the book. “Lay back down and let me read. Though I’m _sure_ that you know how to read this on your own.”

“We’ll switch in a little while. I want to give this a try and see how it works out.” With a happy smile, Dean drops back down to lay comfortably against him. “I think this is going to be great.”

Castiel does not understand how this could be any more enjoyable if Dean were lying next to him, but he does not question it. Dean is far more knowledgeable about physical contact than Castiel is. It’s certainly nice to have the weight of Dean on his chest like this. And it gives him a good place to prop the book – keeping it open across Dean’s shoulders. He picks the first story he ever told Dean, the origin of Aïnkin and Kuïn.

By the time Castiel finishes reading, Dean has completely relaxed against him. He makes a pitiful groan in the back of his throat when Castiel fall silent. It sounds like Dean enjoyed this, but _why_ escapes him. He’s read to him plenty of times before. How is this any different? Castiel contemplates closing the book, but instead he just looks down at Dean, watching him for a few moments.

“I fail to see why you like this so much.”

Dean hums and slowly pulls his arms out from underneath him. “Then switch with me.”

 Unexpectedly, within minutes Castiel is lulled to sleep by the deep rumble of Dean’s voice under his cheek. Having the heat of him underneath him is just as comforting as the sound of his voice. Now he understands why Dean thought this would be so good and he has to agree, this is _extremely_ nice.

*

Winter is already setting in again when the order is issued throughout the kingdom regarding the change to the Churches in the land. Castiel spends the day watching the outlying city from the walls around the castle, nervously waiting for a riot that never comes. He knows that Charlie has done well with her information gathering, but he still can’t help but worry about those who do not like change – those who have had decade’s worth of learning that not all love is acceptable.

He waits until the sun begins to set before he accepts that nothing bad is happening that day – and nothing happens the next. They only begin to receive complaints once Dean dispatches soldiers to escort the Church clergy who have refused the offer to stay and preach in the new branch. None of the complaints are outright threats to the King’s life – merely just minimal promises to leave the kingdom if the old clergy and Church ways are not restored. Dean ignores those letters entirely, leaving them to the council to deal with. As far as he is apparently concerned, his job is done.

“I’ve done what I set out to do.” Dean says happily, stretching out in the largest tub the castle has. It’s drawing into the late half of the evening and regardless, and regardless of that, Dean had decided that it was the perfect time to take a bath. “I _earned_ this soak and without a whole day of work ahead of us, I don’t have to rush.”

“Of course, Dean.” Castiel agrees, ensuring that the door is locked and the cover is drawn over the little window set in it. He fills a bucket with warm water from the pot over the fire and adds it to the tub, pausing only to run a hand through Dean’s hair. “You deserve this after how hard you’ve worked.”

A happy sound gets muffled in the back of Dean’s throat and he tilts his head back into the touch. “It’s been more than a year, Cas. I’ve been trying to get that to happen for a year and a _half_ and it’s finally happened.” He opens his eyes to give Castiel a small, happy smile. “You’re not a servant anymore and the Church will recognize relationships between members of the same sex. How’s that feel, Cas?”

It feels amazing. Nearly everything that he was so worried about has been almost completely removed. How is he supposed to feel anything but as delighted as Dean does? It’s though a weight has been lifted from his shoulders and he’s been fighting the urge to pull to Dean him since the realization truly hit him. Now that they’re alone, why should he continue fighting against that urge? The tub is plenty big enough for the two of them and Dean has been hoping for many moons that Castiel would join him in the tub to bathe instead of on a stool on his own.

He only smiles and touches Dean’s shoulder lightly before he returns the bucket to the hearth. It places him out of Dean’s line of sight and makes his surprise all the more perfect. As silently as possible, he removes his clothing – shivering when the open air hits his skin. The room is plenty warm against the bitter winter winds beginning to blow outside, but goose flesh still pebbles across his skin. Before Dean can notice, Castiel climbs over the side of the tub and slips into the water next to him. It feels _amazing_ and he settles comfortably in place with a sigh.

When he opens his eyes and glances to Dean, he’s pleased to find a wide-eyed, happy stare directed his way. Dean’s lips stay parted for a few moments before they pull back into a toothy grin and he finds Castiel’s hand under the water. With the familiarity that has developed over the last several moons, it feels so very natural to have Dean’s fingers between his own again. They lean their shoulders together, bare skin against bare skin and Castiel closes his eyes with a soft sigh – happier in this moment than he has been in _ages_.

Today isn’t the first day that Dean offers to help Castiel wash up. He started asking that not long after Castiel started bathing himself in the same room at the same time as Dean. The only difference between all those days and today is that Castiel _accepts_. Had he known that it would feel this good to have rough fingers rubbing soap into his hair, he would have accepted Dean’s offers long ago. His regret for not agreeing sooner only grows when Dean shows him the wonders of a shoulder massage and he does nothing to hold back the groan that falls from his lips in that moment.

Things between them start to shift on that day. Now Castiel takes all of his baths by sharing the tub with Dean. He is more agreeable to Dean touching him after that, though he has found himself unable to bring himself to touch him in return. Castiel’s hands hesitate, never able to do more than hug him for fear of failing. Dean, however, makes up for it all by making it his sworn duty to touch Castiel in all the ways that he does approve of while systematically finding every spot on Castiel’s neck and shoulders with his mouth that turns his knees to limp noodles.

But, by the time winter has passed its solstice and started to wane, Castiel feels like he has done little to prove to Dean that he _does_ want him. Aside from their first night sharing a bed, and a few other instances, Castiel has never been the one to initiate any physical contact between the two of them – and especially not when they’re naked. It could be said that it’s his fault when, one morning, Dean turns to him before they climb into the tub.

“You know, Cas, you _are_ allowed to touch me.” He spreads his arms to gesture at himself. “You have my permission – not that you ever needed it.” Colour starts to rise in his cheeks and he licks his lips, looking unsure. “In fact, I highly encourage it.”

“I know, Dean.” Castiel looks to the floor, his fingers twitching at his sides. “Your patience has been _extremely_ appreciated, and I need you to know that I _am_ trying.

He is most certainly making the effort for it. Every night, after Dean has fallen asleep, Castiel takes the chance to gently touch his face. It’s not much, but it’s something. For Dean’s sake, and his, he should do so much more than that. That’s what _he_ wants, and Dean most certainly does too. They’ve been sharing a bed for the better part of a year now and Dean has kissed all along his arms, his shoulders, his neck and his ears – and yet Castiel has never allowed him to kiss his _lips_.

That in itself is odd. They have even been slowly becoming more intimate in public places around the castle – standing far closer than normal, letting their hands brush, and on one occasion Dean had even kissed his cheek in full view of the council. Castiel isn’t sure if anyone actually _saw_ , but it should be enough for him knowing that he’s been allowing them both to be pushing their boundaries and testing the reactions of the people in the palace. No one has outright _said_ anything, but they have most certainly picked up on a few odd looks from some servants.

No one has spoken out about the King getting more and more intimate with a male Aladaï _ambassador_ who has the tendency to carry out tasks usually reserved for servants. That should be a good thing. That should be enough for Castiel to take the final hurdle of his own nervous fear and _try_. Even if he’s a disappointment with their first kiss, how can he get better without any sort of practice? They can never move forward and do everything that Dean wants to do – everything that Castiel wants to give him – if he continues to be a coward.

With that line of thought, Castiel tries his best to quell the slight tremble to his hands when he reaches for Dean in the tub. The dark water between them obscures his vision and his fingertips skate along Dean’s hip first. It’s a touch that startles them both and Dean turns to face him so sharply that water splashes over the edge of the basin. Castiel nearly recoils, but he forces himself to remain firm. He _can_ do this. This touch will be no different than anything he has done before.

Dean moves easily when both of Castiel’s hands find his hips. His grip is not the strongest, but as soon as Castiel tugs at him, Dean is eager to slide closer. He slips into the space between Castiel’s legs, settling against his chest in much the same way that he does when they lie together on the bed for one of them to read in the evening. There is one difference between then and now, and Castiel can feel it quite obviously – Dean is holding himself away instead of lying against him completely.

“It’s alright.” He murmurs quietly, pressing his palms into the small of Dean’s back. “Make yourself comfortable. I’m not going to push you away.”

After a moment’s hesitation, the heat of the water is replaced with the solid heat of another body. Castiel bites his lip as Dean’s arms encircle his waist, pulling them closer together. He nearly starts rubbing his cheek against Castiel’s chest, trying to hide the happy smile pulling across his lips. It’s hard to hide his own too, even if the weight against some of his more intimate parts feels wholly foreign and so very _intriguing_.

The feeling spreads throughout his body, making every inch of his skin tingle in a very pleasant manner. Castiel smiles and doesn’t think twice about pressing his lips to Dean’s hairline. It’s just a gentle kiss, but immediately they both go still. They hold their breath and slowly, Dean lifts his head. His eyes are unbelievably wide, caught between the all too familiar place of surprise and hope.

It’s a hope that bolsters Castiel’s courage and he slides his hands up Dean’s back. They move over his shoulders and up his neck until Castiel’s palms are fitted to the hinges of his jaw. Castiel holds his head steady as he leans forward to press a tentative kiss to his forehead. Dean’s eyes fall shut and he takes a small breath. He gasps softly when the next few kisses, a little surer than the last, land on each eyelid. The fifth falls to his cheek, just shy of where Castiel’s thumb lies.

A shiver wracks through Dean when another is pressed even lower on his other cheek. He breathes Castiel’s name in one short hiss of air and opens his eyes again. There are only a few other places on his face that Castiel could kiss next. Even though he wants to kiss _all_ of Dean, he knows exactly where he wants to kiss next. He can hardly look away from Dean’s mouth and his own lips tingle as though he were already kissing him properly.

“You don’t have to, Cas.” Dean whispers softly into the small space between them. “If you’re not ready, it’s okay. This – this is more than enough. I –”

If Dean speaks anymore, Castiel will lose what nerve he has managed to gather thus far. Going purely by the fine trembling of Dean’s body, he thinks that his gentle kisses have been alright – neither too hard or too wet or too weird. Even Dean’s breathing is skipping in a funny pattern, rasping almost as though he was fresh from the poison again. It’s worrying and Castiel is tempted to stop, but he has seen Dean breathe like this during normal moments of his day too.

Dean stops breathing completely when Castiel cranes his neck just a little more to lightly brush their lips together. He’s almost too scared to do anything more – too worried that he might miss or move his mouth wrong. The soft sound Dean makes is like fox fire dancing in his veins and Castiel takes a deep breath through his nose. It sounds so desperate and thrilled and Castiel makes one in return, especially when Dean leans into him more surely, aligning the kiss properly and pressing in harder.

The kiss lasts only a moment, but it leaves Castiel breathless.

Another whisper slips through the heavy air, filled with the quiet nervousness that Castiel would expect from _himself_ instead of Dean. “Was that everything you were waiting for, Cas?”

“I’m not sure.” Castiel can only smile as he draws Dean in once more. “We should try it again.”


	15. Timestamp: To Touch (Part 1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With a sigh, Dean reaches up to caress Castiel’s cheek. “I wanted you to be mine before I even knew what sex was. I don’t need it to want to be with you, Cas.” He smiles and rubs his thumb over Castiel’s cheek. “Of course I’m sure.”

In Castiel’s fine opinion, he believes that the kisses he and Dean share now are very nice. On most occasions they are _more_ than nice. If he were being completely honest with himself, Castiel would go as far as saying that he loves kissing Dean almost as much as he loves Dean himself. Having Dean pressed against him, his lips catching against his own, is a delight. Being able to _feel_ and taste Dean’s smile instead of simply observing it from a distance is a thrilling experience that Castiel would rate above the adrenaline filled rush of battle.

Possibly one of the best things about kissing Dean is that Castiel no longer feels nervous about doing it. In fact, he is fairly confident in his kissing skills now – especially after Dean had shown him that there are other ways of kissing that involve more than just pressing their lips together. Specifically, Castiel has learned how to use his tongue and that had been an interesting day filled with blushing and practice.

But in all regard, Castiel has little care regarding whether or not he has truly improved. As long as Dean is satisfied with his abilities, then he is happy. Luckily, on all occasions, Dean has pulled away looking _far_ more pleased than when they had been drawn together.

Dean likes to kiss Castiel in the morning. It’s the first thing he does when he wakes up and he ends his day in much the same way, kissing Castiel again when they tuck in for the night. Those kisses are always so very soft and sweet and it sometimes takes them ages to pull apart. But each one is filled with the joy Dean often announces he has merely at the sight of Castiel being next to him every day. It’s such a simple thing and it brings Dean such happiness that Castiel spends every day feeling as though there are clouds beneath his feet.

Even when he is fighting to protect Dean’s life and his own, Castiel is happy. He feels at home and at peace with being at Dean’s side. More than once, in the many moons that it took him to get to this point, Castiel had been worried that Dean doubted his feelings when he hesitated to reciprocate physical advances. It is a _relief_ to finally be able to express how he feels for Dean in a way that he can understand it too.

Words are never enough with Dean. He has always learned best through example – through contact and guidance. Castiel learned this best when raising him and teaching him. It had been a struggle to find a method that would keep Dean’s attention constantly instead of letting it drift while he was forced to sit through endless hours of lecture. And now, Castiel uses the very same method at every opportunity to ensure that Dean _knows_ how much he is wanted and how much he is loved – even if Dean insists that he knows Castiel loves him.

Of course, Dean’s insistent reminders are nowhere to be seen on the rare occasions where they find themselves alone in a room together. During such instances, Dean will not hesitate to lean into Castiel’s side. It never takes long for him to get the hint that Dean wants to steal kisses in what little alone time they have. Castiel has always believed that physical intimacy is something that should be kept private. What he and Dean do together is nobody’s business but their own and it is only when they are alone that he is truly comfortable enough to relax and kiss Dean properly.

And yet those soft kisses stolen in their moments alone – when they stand pressed together with fingertips drifting across stubble-rough jaws and the backs of their necks – those are perhaps his most favourite of the kinds of kisses they share. Those are truly the ones taken simply because they _want_ to. The ones in the morning and the evening feel almost necessary now – a way to start and end the day with a physical affirmation of their feelings for one another. But the ones they take when they don’t have to? _Those_ get Castiel’s heart stuttering happily in his chest.

But as good as the kisses are, they are detrimental to any further progress they make in the areas of physical intimacy. Though Dean maintains his claims that he is more than happy with the kisses, Castiel finds that it is his own happiness with them that is holding him back from moving on to the _other_ things they could be doing together. There are things beyond kissing that Dean wants that he does not ask for with words and he rarely asks for in touches – the kind of touches that Castiel has yet to reciprocate.

Over the changing of the seasons, from winter into spring, Castiel has noted that Dean has a terrible case of wandering hands. More often than not, they will wander during their evening kisses. Whether Dean does it consciously or not, Castiel doesn’t know, but he takes no issue with the touches since they never stray from the same pattern.

When they kiss, Castiel has the habit of keeping his hands fixed around Dean’s head and shoulders. He’ll cradle his face between his palms and run his fingers through his hair, or he’ll wrap his arms around Dean’s shoulders and grab handfuls of his shirt over his back. Dean’s hands are far more restless. They travel in a never ending journey starting from Castiel’s shoulders and sliding along his arms where he will draw Castiel’s hands into his to link their fingers together. Sometimes he’s perfectly happy to leave them like that, but most of the time Dean’s hands will continue.

They follow their pattern down along Castiel’s sides, tracing gentle patterns into the fabric of his shirt. He’ll press hard enough that his fingertips will be felt, and Castiel is always well aware of exactly _where_ Dean is touching him. Often times, the pattern will end briefly at Castiel’s hips. There, Dean folds his palm to the curve of them, simply holding tightly or drawing him in impossibly closer before they start their trek all over again.

But as nice as Dean’s touches are – and they are _very_ nice – Castiel is not naïve. Dean never presses for anything more than what Castiel is willing to give, but he _does_ want more. It’s obvious in the subtle rock of his body against Castiel’s whenever he’s pressed against him while they kiss. Even more so, Castiel is well aware of what happens behind the door in the bathing room on the odd mornings where Dean asks to start his bath alone.

This only started after they began kissing and it happens at least a few times during every fortnight now. He knows, without a doubt, what Dean does in the bathing room before he calls for Castiel to join him again. Only once, in all the time that Castiel has known him, has he ever walked in on Dean while he was pleasuring himself – and that had been when Dean was first discovering self pleasure. After that, Dean had taken many precautions against it happening again.

But things are very different now from when Dean was growing up. Since Castiel’s return from the tribe lands, Dean has attempted to be secretive with his private times. He is sorely mistaken if he thinks that Castiel has not noticed the times when he takes _especially_ long in the latrine. Even more so if Dean doesn’t think that when he takes longer than normal, Castiel doesn’t start to worry that something might have happened – such as a surprise trap laid out in the most unsuspecting of places – and gone to check on him.

The doors to the King’s private latrine do lock, but the door is not nearly as soundproof as Dean likely hopes. Castiel has walked up to the door more than once since he returned, intent on checking that Dean is alright, only to turn and walk away as soon as he heard the all too familiar sounds of masturbation. There is little that Dean can hide from him, but he has allowed Dean to maintain his illusion of secrecy – if only for the sake of not having to discuss what he does on his own.

But things have certainly changed between them since then. Now that Castiel has accepted a more _physical_ alteration to their relationship, Dean’s supposed ‘subtleties’ regarding his own self pleasure have completely fallen away. He _knows_ that Castiel knows what he does in the bath now. Dean knows to the point that he has even extended an invitation for Castiel to stay in the room, though he has pointed it out that Castiel does not need to actually join him.

Simply being in the same room as Dean while he is masturbating has been a line Castiel has not been able to cross yet. As it stands, by the time spring is becoming summer, Castiel has not even allowed himself to _think_ of Dean in any sexual way beyond kissing. The sheer intimacy found in the act of _touching_ any further then what they have done thus far has caused a sense of panic to swell behind Castiel’s ribs whenever he stops to think about it.

He can handle kissing and he can handle the gentle touches to chaste areas, but anything more than that is almost enough to _frighten_ him, despite how they have been intimate with one another in other ways for over a year now. Castiel can handle sleeping beside Dean and holding him. He can even handle kissing him. But to be in the same room as Dean while he finds his orgasm, even if he doesn’t touch him? That is _entirely_ different and it takes Castiel quite a few moons to gather up the courage to accept Dean’s offer to stay.

*

Castiel is possibly the only reason Dean is standing right now. He bears his weight easily as Dean leans heavily into his side and slouches along next to him through the halls of the castle. His nightclothes swish around his knees as he stumbles and muffles a yawn behind his hand. Castiel keeps his arm firmly around Dean’s shoulders to keep him moving in the proper direction.

Dean’s head lands heavily on his shoulder in the bout of another yawn. “I think I want – I mean, can I start my bath privately today?”

He rolls his eyes with a laugh and gives Dean’s shoulders a squeeze. “Did you have another night of good dreams?” They are most often the cause of Dean needing some alone time in the mornings.

A happy hum is his answer. “ _Very_.” Dean leans into him a little more and snakes an arm around Castiel’s waist. He pitches his voice into a rough whisper. “One day I hope to learn if you’re as flexible as the you I see in my dreams.”

That’s not a very tall order to fill. Castiel has always been particularly flexible, though he doesn’t see what that has to do with Dean’s lustful dreams. But he woke in a rather good mood this morning and his courage is nearly overflowing. It might be a good thing to ease whatever tension he feels right now with some wit and Castiel waits until Dean is not expecting an answer before he gives one.

“I assure you, that I most likely am.”

As planned, the statement catches Dean off guard. He stumbles and lifts his head to stare at Castiel in surprise before a loud laugh bursts out of him. It draws the attention of a servant they pass and she stops sweeping to regard them curiously from under her cap. Castiel ignores the look as he has been doing for many moons. Anyone who has not yet at least started to _suspect_ a relationship between him and Dean will find out eventually. They may not be overly affectionate in public, but neither of them has anything to hide anymore.

“You’re not helping matters, Cas.” Dean chuckles, flashing him a warm smile.

“I’m aware.” This bright delight is exactly what Castiel was hoping for and he tilts a smile of his own at his King – at his _lover_.

His laugh grows louder and Dean brings his other arm up to grip Castiel’s hand on his shoulder. He gives it a squeeze and drops his head again with a happy sigh. “Does that mean you’ll join me this morning?”

Here. This is the moment Castiel has been waiting for since they left the bedroom. He takes a deep breath and pulls his courage around himself like a shield from the nervous twist in this belly. “Yes.”

Dean stops walking immediately, tugging Castiel to a stop simply because they are holding on to one another. He can feel heat filling his face again and his ducks his head, continuing. “But not in the way that you think, Dean. I would like to – I want to be there, but only to _listen_.” Castiel looks down at their bare feet and shifts his weight. “I’m not sure if I can bring myself to watch or participate just yet.”

Gentle fingers tuck under his chin and lift Castiel’s face again. Dean smiles at him, so soft and happy. Castiel doesn’t spare a second thought to leaning in and meeting Dean for the coming kiss and he completely ignores the quiet gasp from the servant. If she didn’t suspect before, then she most certainly knows now. It doesn’t matter and Castiel puts it from his mind as Dean backs away, tugging at Castiel’s hands to drag him along.

Once they’re behind closed door once again, Dean presses in close for another kiss. He has mastered a way of catching Castiel’s bottom lip between his own and creating a slight suction by it. However he manages to do it, it always makes Castiel shiver. Dean draws the same reaction from him along with a soft sound of surprise when he moves his kisses to Castiel’s ear. It only ever makes Castiel hold on to him tighter, tilting his head to give Dean a little more room.

A pleased hum vibrates against his throat and Castiel curls his fingers in Dean’s nightclothes, holding him in place as Dean leans more surely into him. He can feel a growing hardness against his hip and he knows what it is. There is even a slow, stirring response of heat in Castiel’s own belly. But no sooner has he noticed that Dean is quickly growing aroused does Dean step away again to pull his night clothes off over his head.

He smiles at Castiel as he folds his clothes and leaves them on a side table. “Just do whatever makes you comfortable, Cas.”

When he reaches to remove his underclothes too, Castiel forces himself not to look away. This is no different than seeing Dean naked during their regular bathing times, but he can feel heat crawling through his veins at just the _sight_ of Dean being aroused. It burns all the hotter when he knows that Dean is aroused because of _him_.

Castiel clears his throat and starts fumbling to undo the ties of his pants. “Are you sure you can do this with me in the same room?”

“I grew up sharing a room with Sam.” Dean laughs and adds his underclothes to the pile on the table. “I can’t even count the number of times I masturbated in secret under the covers while he was sleeping one bed away.” He grins and shrugs when Castiel stares at him. “What? I was a growing boy and you insisted on teaching me grappling. There were some days when not even the Church could have stopped me from the need to deal with what you do to me.”

The blush burns in Castiel’s cheeks and he ducks his head, intent on focusing on undressing himself. Dean’s laugh rings through the small room and Castiel tries to ignore it, just as he tries not to notice that Dean takes a bottle of oil from a shelf filled with various kinds of bathing salts. He takes a seat on the steps surrounding the bathing basin and Castiel turns away before Dean can take himself in hand.

This is it. Castiel can _do this_. He doesn’t have to look or participate. All he needs to do is be in the same room and listen. If he can’t even handle that, then he should be more than capable of _not_ listening. Though the sounds that start now – particularly the hitch in Dean’s breathing and the first soft moan – might be impossible to block out. Not even meditation would be able to distract him from the lewd sound of the oil slicking the motion of Dean’s hand.

Castiel has heard these sounds plenty of times in his life. It is a common occurrence when you live in closely grouped tents for the majority of your life. And of course, Castiel has heard it in a much more personal manner from when he used to masturbate – though it has been a long time since he last did that. In truth, Castiel can’t even remember the last time he dealt with his own physical needs. He’s been suppressing his body’s urges for so long that it almost feels oddto be aroused again.

It is most certainly hearing those sounds and knowing that it’s _Dean_ making them that is affecting Castiel in all manner of ways. He does his best to ignore his own erection as he finishes stripping and takes a seat on a stool by the fire where more water is heating over the coals. With a towel covering his lap and a cloth soaked with warm water in hand, Castiel starts wiping himself down just to do _something_ while he waits for Dean to be finished.

A shiver shakes through him when Dean outright groans _his_ name. The stairs Dean is sitting on creak and Castiel bites his lip, squeezing his eyes shut as he runs the cloth over his shoulders. He’s having trouble focusing his thoughts enough to remember how long Dean usually takes or if he’s ever been this vocal. Has he ever heard Dean whimper through the door before? Or chant his name in broken gasps? Has he ever heard the long, drawn out moan Dean makes when he comes?

He can’t remember and he doesn’t care. Castiel stays seated on the stool until he hears the splash and sigh of Dean settling into the steaming water in the tub. The burn in his own belly is a smoldering flame that demands his attention now and Castiel knows that there is no escaping it today. He is far too aroused by what he has heard to simply ignore his erection right now. Castiel stands and wraps the towel around his waist. There are other rooms where he can take care of his own desires before he joins Dean to finish their bath.

When he turns around, Dean is slumped in the tub and looking to him expectantly. He ducks his head and makes his way to the door. “I will just be a moment.”

“You could stay.” Dean offers in a whisper, gesturing back to the stool. “I promise I won’t look.”

He hesitates with his fingers on the door handle. “Perhaps – perhaps I will be able to do that next time. Right now, I – I will be back to join you shortly.”

Before Dean can say anything more, Castiel slips from the room and quickly ducks into the next one. He locks the door and leans back against it while he attempts to catch his breath. Though he has done nothing strenuous, he finds it hard to breathe right now and he stumbles to the nearest stool. Castiel loses his towel before he sits down heavily and he stares at the stone floor, taking deep breaths before he decides to act.

The pre-ejaculate already leaking from the head of his erection will be more than enough to lubricate his hand as he wraps his fingers around himself for the first time in ages. This is also the first time that Castiel drops all the mental barriers he put in place years ago. Never before has he allowed himself to think about Dean whenever he masturbated, but today is different. Today he listened to his lover call his name as he orgasmed.

As he strokes himself in search of his own release, Castiel allows his mind to wander. He thinks about what it would feel like if it were Dean’s hand touching him now. That thought alone sends a flare of heat through him and Castiel closes his eyes, focusing on that feeling. He knows what Dean’s touch is like. Dean’s hands are always sure and gentle, each touch tender. Dean _cherishes_ him in a way Castiel never thought he would.

Did it ever feel this good when he used to touch himself? Castiel is fairly certain that masturbating has never made his insides burn as they are now. Thinking of Dean is making this feel _significantly_ better than he ever thought possible and Castiel brings a hand to cover his mouth, muffling the panted gasps of his breathing. He wants to kiss Dean right now – he wants to have Dean kiss him and touch him and show him how exquisite it would be to bring each other physical pleasure _together_.

Unsurprisingly, Castiel reaches his own orgasm much earlier than usual. It’s been so long that he’s surprised his release didn’t come sooner. But his whole body is tingling with the after effects and it’s an effort to drag himself to his feet again. He uses the edge of his towel to clean up the mess he made before he retreats on wobbling legs back to the warm room where Dean is waiting for him. Another flush settles in his cheeks when Dean turns to look at him, a bright smile pulling across his lips.

Castiel climbs into the tub next to him, sinking into the warm water with a sigh. If he can help it, he never wants to bathe in cold water again. This is _divine_. And it only gets better when Dean draws him close and they rearrange themselves for Castiel to stretch out on his stomach and settle against Dean’s chest, the water licking up around his shoulders. He corrects himself because _this_ is even better than simply sitting in a basin of warm water.

“Did you enjoy yourself?” Dean murmurs against his forehead.

He nods, enjoying the way the stubble on his cheek scrapes across Dean’s chest. “More than I ever have before.” After a moment, he lifts his head to look at him. “I didn’t upset you by leaving, did I?”

“Of course not.” Dean smiles and presses a kiss to Castiel’s forehead. “I understand, Cas. I do. Take your time and when you’re ready, you’ll stay.”

A small smile fits itself to Castiel’s lips and he can’t help lifting himself a little higher to kiss Dean again. How lucky for him that his King – his _lover_ – is so accepting and patient with him. It fills his heart with a quivering sensation that spreads throughout his body. It’s beyond all meanings of the word pleasant and Castiel sighs happily, settling back against Dean’s chest. This feeling can’t even be marred by the fact that he doesn’t know how long it will take for him to be ready for anything more.

It doesn’t matter. Dean said he can wait and Castiel trusts him. This is but one of the many reasons for why Castiel loves him.

*

“You can – Cas, you can look now.” Dean murmurs, though his breathing is still rough. It is starting to even out, but not by much. After all, he only orgasmed a few moments ago.

Castiel looks up from the book in his lap. He had been listening to the gasps and groans, the moans of his name and the creak of the bed, but it was only with half an ear. There is barely a shiver of heat through his veins today, but he has long since accepted the fact that he does not get aroused every time that Dean masturbates – not that Dean has noticed as of yet. Granted, that is almost daily now that Dean does it both in their bedroom in the evening and when they go to bathe in the morning.

The change in Dean’s habits regarding masturbation has caught Castiel by surprise and he chooses today to address it. He dips a cloth in some water he had been keeping warm over some coals and brings it to Dean where he’s stretching out on the bed, a mess cooling on his stomach. Dean takes the cloth with a lazy smile and rubs it over his belly and thighs, even cleaning between his legs with it before he throws it toward the fire.

With a sigh, Castiel goes to add it to the pot of water to let it boil clean. He spares a glance over his shoulder as he does it. “You’ve been masturbating more than usual.”

A laugh shakes through Dean as he turns to draw the covers over himself, clearly ignoring the fact that Castiel put his nightclothes out for him on top of the chest at the end of the bed. “I’m not doing it any more than I did while you were gone.” He pulls back the covers on the side of the bed where Castiel usually sleeps and gestures for him to join him as he continues to explain. “An orgasmic release has always helped me with the stress that comes from running an entire country.”

“I don’t remember you needing private time this much before I left.” Castiel puts out the candles and returns Dean’s nightclothes to the trunk before he gets into the bed. If Dean wants to sleep naked tonight, then Castiel has no issues with it. The summer night is rather warm and the room is only made hotter by the coals in the grate.

“Before you left I was still affected by the teachings of the Church.” Dean explains, reaching for Castiel in the same breath. “I was told that self-love was a sin, remember? I would put it off for as long as I could. And besides, before you left we weren’t sharing a bed. You had no clue what I was doing under my covers at night.”

He draws Castiel to him and turns over, leaving him the space to curl against Dean’s back. “While you were gone, I had a lot of alone time and more stress than I cared to deal with. Masturbating helped to relax me – even though it hurt to think about you while I did it. It got better after I realized that the Church was wrong, but nothing felt as good as it does now.” Dean wiggles back against Castiel’s chest, humming happily under his breath. “I stopped doing it so much when you came back because you obviously weren’t ready for anything sexual and I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

Castiel smiles and ducks his head to hide it against the back of Dean’s neck. “Thank you, Dean.” He presses a kiss to his hairline and tightens his hold around Dean's waist. “And I – I _am_ working on that. I think I might be able to actually _watch_ you soon, if you’re – if that is something that you would be amenable to?”

Maybe if he can bring himself to actually watch Dean touch himself, he’ll be able to learn how Dean likes to be touched. That way, Castiel won’t be such a disappointment the first time that he has the courage to touch him sexually.

“If I can watch you too.” The smile is evident in Dean’s voice and it’s clear that he’s _teasing_ him.

He squeezes Dean tighter in retribution for it. “There is not much to watch. Unlike you, I don’t masturbate nearly as often. In fact, I had not masturbated for a very long time before that first morning when I listened to you.”

Dean rolls over immediately, eyes wide. “What?”

Castiel shrugs and lets his hand wander up and down Dean’s spine. “I had more important things to do than worry about physical pleasure. As well, I didn’t want to risk touching myself and accidentally think of someone I thought I could never have. That would have hurt too much.”

His eyes only grow wider, though a smile lifts the corner of his mouth. “Me?”

“Who else would I think about?” A smile of his own spread on his lips.

Dean wiggles closer and brushes their noses together. “But you _do_ have me, Cas. You always have.”

“You know what I mean, Dean.” Castiel sighs happily and rests their foreheads together. If Dean continues to say things like that, he might explode from how happy he is.

“I know, but I’m talking about _now_.” A hand drifts up Castiel’s arm and Dean lays his palm against his cheek. “If you want to touch yourself and think of me, you can. There’s nothing stopping you.”

Muffling a laugh, Castiel leans in to kiss Dean gently. “I’m well aware that I can and I’ve been taking advantage of that whenever I have the urge to.”

Dean’s thumb rubs over Castiel’s cheek and he murmurs against his lips. “You think about me?” When he hums a positive response, Dean’s smile grows. “What do you think about when you think of me?”

“That is a story for another time.” He shakes his head and turns it to kiss Dean’s palm. “We should sleep now. Don’t you have a meeting with Charlie tomorrow regarding the guild she wants to create?”

A pout forms on Dean’s lips. “But you haven’t –” His pout gives way to a dawning look of horror and he draws away to look down between them. “You aren’t – you weren’t aroused?”

It only took him nearly a fortnight to realize this. Castiel brings Dean’s hands to his mouth to kiss his palms gently. “It doesn’t happen for me all the time. As arousing as I find you to be when you’re touching yourself and calling my name, my body doesn’t always react.”

His answer only seems to confuse Dean rather than placate him. Thankfully, he doesn’t question it further. Dean only draws Castiel closer and kisses him with another fond smile on his face. “You never cease to amaze me, Cas.”

Though he doesn’t understand what it is that Dean finds amazing about that, Castiel can only laugh and draw the blanket up higher around them. He murmurs his goodnight as Dean does the same, though he turns over for Castiel to curl tightly against his back again. The summer heat in the room is nothing compared to the heat of Dean’s skin, but Castiel doesn’t mind it. He’s had worse nights sleeping in a tent on the plains of the tribe lands.

No night can ever be a bad one when he has Dean in his arms.

*

If Castiel thought that he found _listening_ to Dean arousing, then he was certainly not prepared for watching him. As much as he enjoys the _sounds_ Dean makes, he can hardly handle the way Dean _moves._ Being able to see the flush of his skin and the pull of the muscles beneath it is a true treat and Castiel can barely take his eyes from him whenever Dean arches his spine or throws his head back into the pillows.

Having a visual aid is far more arousing than simply listening and Castiel finds that he does grow hard more frequently if he watches Dean instead of simply listening. It still doesn’t happen _every_ time, of course. There are some times where Castiel doesn’t even get half an erection from it. Those always go away not long after Dean has had his orgasm. However, on my most days Castiel’s pulse will speed up the moment Dean starts to touch himself and he can feel a sensation pulling tight in his stomach.

When he watches Dean, Castiel usually sits in a chair not far from the bed. With distance between them, he minimizes the risk of Dean uncontrollably reaching out for him. Doubly so, the distance keeps _Castiel_ from losing his own control and reaching out to touch Dean too. With space between them, he can focus less on his desire to touch and more on memorizing the way Dean moves – and he moves far more than Castiel first thought he did.

Originally, he assumed that Dean touches himself the same way that he does; by sitting up or laying down and simply stroking his erection until orgasm has been achieved. Dean does so much _more_ , often times digging his heels into the bed and rocking his hips. His hand does very little moving and it’s his body that does all the work. He will thrust into the circle of his fist or roll onto his stomach to essentially rub against the mattress until he takes himself in hand again.

And though the hand Dean uses on his erection is more stationary, his free hand most certainly is not. It is constantly wandering across his body, either dancing along his chest to stop and pinch and rub at his nipples, or he will stroke soft fingers over his stomach. Quite often, Dean will spread his legs and his free hand will travel down to massage the sac hanging heavy beneath his erection. Everything that he does – every way that he touches himself – Castiel commits it to memory and hopes that one day he will be able to put this information to good use.

Watching Dean move is truly a sight to behold – so much so that it only takes a few viewings before Castiel decides that he no longer wants to wait until Dean is done before he takes care of himself. Thus far, in the year and a half since they have started their _relationship_ , Dean has never seen him naked while he is aroused. Either he is always fully dressed or there is a towel around his waist. When it comes to sexual matters, they are unbalanced and Castiel feels it as painfully as he does the twist of unease in his stomach whenever he thinks about how he might fail to bring Dean pleasure.

Dean might say that he thinks about Castiel every time he touches himself, but what if he grows bored of that? What if he grows bored of _him_ and he becomes tired of waiting? It took Castiel almost a year just to be able to _kiss_ him. What if it takes another year before he has enough courage to touch him? Fears like that only make Castiel want to try harder and stop taking such little steps in getting closer to Dean in all senses of the word.

And Castiel _does_ want to be closer. He wants to be close enough to Dean to smell the scent of sex that permeates his skin after he masturbates. Castiel wants to be closer to the heat that comes off of him in waves, to feel it as Dean’s body burns hot while he crests into his orgasms. He has only ever been near it after the fact when Dean has finished cleaning up and is satiated and sluggish. By then the effect has lessened and Castiel is starting to feel _left out_ of the experience.

Now that he watches, Dean has been developing the habit of _looking_ at him when he orgasms. His eyes will burn and he always gasps Castiel’s name, but it doesn’t feel as good as it could be from several feet away. Castiel wants to be a part of what Dean is going through. And the more he watches, the faster his fears fall away. He knows what Dean likes to do to himself now, and Dean has been patient with him thus far. Perhaps he would be just as patient with Castiel’s hesitant steps forward.

With that in mind, it comes as no surprise to him that his own patience breaks less than a fortnight from when he starts watching. It happens on an evening when Dean is on his knees with his face buried in the pillows, muffling all sorts of noises as he rocks into his fist. He is alone on the bed and Castiel is tired of that sight. Laying next to him won’t require actually _touching_ him – something that Castiel is not entirely sure he can do just yet. But he _can_ move closer and he can touch himself next to Dean instead of hiding himself away in the storage room that he once called his old bedroom.

While Dean is lost in his own sensations, Castiel stands and quickly removes his clothing. He manages to make it all the way to the edge of the bed and climb in before Dean notices that he has moved from the chair. It startles Dean to the point that he nearly falls off the edge of the bed in his efforts to stop and look at him. He sits back on his knees and stares while Castiel makes himself comfortable on the sheets.

This is the first that Dean is seeing him aroused and Castiel almost feels embarrassed by it, purely from the intensity of his stare. He knows that there is no need to be self-conscious in the presence of his lover and he fights against that feeling. Even so, Castiel does his best not to look at Dean at first, especially as he hesitantly takes himself in hand.

His hand is cool compared to the heated skin of his erection and Castiel bites his bottom lip at the touch. He has take a deep breath to calm himself before he can begin stroking. Dean is suddenly leaning over him shortly after he starts and a flare of panic burns in Castiel’s chest at it. The first instinct to spring to mind is to sit up and push Dean away from him but he doesn't move, waiting first to see what it is that Dean will do. Castiel may be ready to lay next to him while they masturbate, but he is _not_ ready to touch or be touched. Soon, perhaps, but not yet.

Thankfully, Dean’s hands remain fisted in the bedding. All he does is lean down to kiss Castiel, soft and quick. As soon as he’s done, he settles back on the bed, nestled against the pillows. Dean smiles brightly as he fists his own erection again, clearly pleased that Castiel has joined him. Soon enough, they are stroking themselves in a matching pace. When Dean’s hips start rocking again, Castiel stays still. Maybe one day he will learn to move when they are intimate – for now, he is happy to simple stroke himself and watch through the corner of his eye as Dean does the same.

As Dean nears his peak, he twists onto his side to face Castiel. He does the same, if only so that they may continue to watch each other as they reach release. Dean hits his orgasm first and is forced to close his eyes as he turns his face into the pillow with a loud moan of Castiel’s name. It’s enough to put him over the edge as well and he muffles his moan with a hand over his mouth. He’s never been loud when he’s masturbated before and the one pushing up in his throat is louder than anything he’s made before.

Afterward, as they lay together with a mess on their hands and the sheets between them, they pant for breath and smile at each other. In that moment, Castiel decides that _this_ was the best orgasm he has ever had. It brings him to the conclusion that involving Dean in anything, even if he is only masturbating at the same time as him, only makes things feel better.

He wonders if the same can be said for Dean. The answer to that question is most likely a resounding ‘ _yes_ ’ if he takes into consideration the delighted smile on Dean’s lips and the way he props himself up on his elbow to kiss Castiel again. It’s soft and sweet and so full of love – so much so that no other answer seems possible. Dean has never looked so happy after he’s masturbated before and Castiel can only find it in himself to be incredibly happy too.

Once they are cleaned up and Castiel has insisted that they change the sheets too, he is not surprised by how Dean curls up against him again. For the first time since he started sharing a bed with Dean, Castiel goes to sleep with only his pants on. He rather enjoys the way Dean draws nonsensical designs with his fingertips over his stomach. As nice as that is in its own right, Castiel likes best how Dean continues to murmur softly just how _happy_ he is to have him here. He repeats over and over how happy he is to know that Castiel loves him too and that he’s willing to _try_ for him.

It has Castiel falling asleep with a smile on his face.

*

As summer turns to autumn, Castiel starts finding it easier to touch Dean. It might have something to do with how Dean spends almost every night sleeping naked or in his underclothes. Sometimes he does it accidentally by falling asleep shortly after his orgasms, but Castiel is well aware that all the other times are because Dean is doing it to help him adjust to touching him while he is naked in their bed – even if the touches are not sexual.

In all honesty, it _has_ helped. Now, on the nights when Castiel’s libido is not nearly as active as Dean’s, he is able to lay beside him and hold Dean’s hand as he brings himself to release. Dean has never mentioned whether or not he is concerned that Castiel is not always aroused at the same time. Despite that, it’s still something that Castiel thinks of often. But whenever he brings it up – and he does bring it up every so often – Dean only ever has the same answer.

Dean stretches out across the bed after he finishes on another night where Castiel did not join in. “You can ask that until Kingdom come, Cas, but I’m happy just having you nearby.”

“Are you sure?” He rolls onto his side and lifts himself up on to his elbow to look down at him. “I would think that you would be frustrated with how long it has taken us just to reach this point.”

With a sigh, Dean reaches up to cup Castiel’s face between his hands. “I wanted you to be mine before I even knew what sex was. I don’t need it to want to be with you, Cas.” He smiles and rubs his thumb over Castiel’s cheek. “Of course I’m sure.”

Castiel pushes the bangs from Dean’s forehead and kisses him softly. It feels as though his heart is going to expand just from his words. “And you don’t mind that I only watch?”

“Honestly?” Dean pulls from the kiss with a laugh. “Having you watching me makes it _better_.”

And that is something that Castiel can only agree with. There is a certain thrill now to having Dean’s eyes on him as he finds his orgasm. He allows himself to be drawn into another kiss and is more than alright with Dean slowly rolling them until Castiel is the one on his back and Dean is above him. Light fingers trace down his side and slide up under his loose shirt – untucked from his pants but not yet removed for when they turn in for the night.

“I don’t mind waiting, Cas.” Dean whispers against his lips with a smile. “But could I touch you when we’re _both_ masturbating?”

That makes him go still, but before he can object, Dean shushes him with a finger to his lips. “Just your hand, Cas. You only ever hold mine when you’re not aroused. Could we hold hands when you’re touching yourself too?”

It is not an unreasonable request and Castiel thinks he might be able to do that. “I’ll think about it.”

Another smile plays on Dean’s lips as he kisses him again. “Thank you, Cas.”

The nervousness that twists through Castiel’s stomach now at the thought of touching Dean _while_ they’re masturbating is nothing like how it used to be. He and Dean have been working at making him comfortable for more than half a year now since they started kissing. He certainly _feels_ more at ease physically with Dean than he first was. In fact, Castiel could almost say that he is actually _looking forward_ to trying this.

*

The first time that Dean squeezes Castiel’s hand as he rocks through his orgasm, it brings him crashing into his own with a surprising suddenness. Dean has already become well adjusted to the feel of Castiel’s hand in his own when he reaches release, but Castiel is wholly new to it and he never expected his whole arm to tingle just from the heat of Dean’s palm. He never knew or believed that just the touch of their _hands_ could bring him so much pleasure.

A few times doing that is all Castiel requires to be encouraged enough to change things again only a handful of nights later. On that evening, Castiel surprises Dean by abandoning his own attempts to reach orgasm and rolling closer to his side. He relinquishes his hold on Dean’s hand to prop himself up on his elbow as he places a hand on Dean’s stomach.

This time he can actually _feel_ the shift of Dean’s muscles under his hand as he starts rocking his hips again. Castiel can feel the sharp breath Dean takes when he leans down to press a kiss to his cheek. Being able to experience these things simply by touch only makes Castiel wonder what it would be like if his whole body was pressed against Dean’s. It’s a dizzying thought and he lets that stay settled in the forefront of his mind as Dean grasps the back of his head to hold him in place for kisses given between panting breaths and broken moans.

Dean turns into him while he continues stroking himself and Castiel’s hand ends up sliding to his hip. He doesn’t mind and Dean certainly doesn’t seem to notice. All Castiel does is kiss Dean and gently hold his hip, but it seems to be enough. Certainly, Dean doesn’t complain when he finds his release and shudders through it with a soft sound exhaled against Castiel’s lips. Almost immediately, before Dean has even calmed down from his own orgasm, he returns the favour.

The weight of having Dean’s hand on his belly while Castiel stretches out on his back has more of an effect on him than he thought it would. It _heightens_ what he feels – a tingly web of heat spreading over his skin from where Dean’s hand rests. Dean rains kisses across his shoulder and his cheek throughout it all, but it’s always when he puts his lips to Castiel’s ear that tips him over the edge.

If anything, the sensation of having Dean touch him nearly makes Castiel delirious. His mind feels like clouds have been pulled from the sky and stuffed between his ears. He feels as though his body is floating whenever he orgasms before Dean does and his actions afterward are always more daring. Instead of just letting his hand rest on Dean’s stomach, sometimes he’ll let it slide up his chest to rest over his heart and feel the rapid beat of it. Sometimes he even feels brave enough to allow his fingers to drift over one of Dean’s nipples.

Feeling like that, it doesn’t take long for Castiel to eventually escalate. His courage overflows any time he can make Dean shiver and gasp his name with just a few simple touches. Unsurprisingly, on a night when his own arousal has not been dealt with yet and his courage is at an all time high, Castiel doesn’t think twice about sliding his hand _down_ Dean’s stomach instead of up. His thoughts are blurred by the distraction of Dean’s tongue twisting against his own and the pleased rumble vibrating through Dean’s throat. He doesn’t even realize what he’s done until Dean is pulling away from the kiss with a sharp cry.

That day marks the first that Castiel touches Dean’s erection properly. His fingers curl around it in a loose fist and he can only watch in wonder as Dean’s hips move at a near desperate pace. When he comes, it is surprisingly early considering how long Dean usually takes, and Castiel can’t help but feel as though it is because of _his_ hand actually touching the most intimate parts of him.

Shortly after, he learns exactly why Dean reached his release so quickly. Having Dean kiss _and_ touch him at the same time is almost more than Castiel can physically handle. If anything, he orgasms faster than Dean did. It’s not a competition and he finds no embarrassment in it. Instead, Castiel finds it _fascinating_. How could Dean’shand bring him more pleasure than just his own? It’s intriguing beyond all reason and Castiel believes that more experimentation will be required to properly understand it.

But as they settle under the blankets again with soft smiles and softer kisses, Castiel is pleased. For the first time in a very long time, he feels _completely_ comfortable with Dean. There are no fears or doubts tainting the back of his mind or drawing dark vices around his heart. There is only a calm content that he had hoped would one day come to them both. It has taken them almost their entire lives to reach this point together and Castiel could not be more delighted.

Simply by being here he is making Dean happy. Not only that, but Sam and Lisa are delighted to have him home too. They all have grown in their own right and Castiel is proud of each of them for the people they have become. In the last year and a half, he has learned so much about himself that he thought he already knew. He’s learned about Dean too, but he knows that there is so much more left to discover.

Castiel could spend a lifetime unraveling every facet of Dean that he has yet to find and he plans on doing just that. He looks forward to seeing how they will both continue to grow. _Together_.


	16. Timestamp: To Love (Part 1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It can be argued, for the history books, that the moment that his Royal Majesty, King Dean Winchester, fell in love with his guardian and mentor – the Aladaï warrior, Castiel – was the very first moment that he ever saw him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Unedited for the time being because I just woke up and I have plans but I'll do it ASAP**

It can be argued, for the history books, that the moment that his Royal Majesty, King Dean Winchester, fell in love with his guardian and mentor – the Aladaï warrior, Castiel – was the very first moment that he ever saw him.

*

For Dean, his day had been normal in all senses of the word. His current mentor, known to him only as _Matron_ , had spent the whole day complaining loudly about how his father should not be entertaining barbarians in the castle. At the time, Dean had no idea what she was speaking about. To his knowledge, he only knew that his father was busy with an important treaty involving people from a neighbouring land – though he doesn’t know who they are or why the treaty is necessary.

Dean may be young, but he is far from blind and he knows Matron fairly well. The only people that could possibly have work her up into the furious tizzy she spends the day in are the Aladaï. They are a heathen race born and bred in dirt and blood. If those really are the people Dean’s father is making a treaty with, then that leaves Dean _very_ confused. Matron says the Aladaï are little more than _animals_. Why would his father waste any time with them?

Being confused or concerned about that only lasts for so long. He forgets about it completely as soon as Matron drops Dean and Sam off at their playroom with the soldiers and servants who will tend to them. She is too old to join them in their playing and too bored to simply sit and watch them when another servant could do it just as well. Frankly, Dean considers it a blessing. Matron wouldn’t approve of the majority of games they play.

Dean drags Sam to a chest stuffed full of wooden blocks in various sizes and shapes. They work well for stacking into shapes like buildings and Dean is intent on building himself a castle today. “I’m going to be a dragon today, Sammy.” He explains, loading up Sam’s arms with blocks. “And you can be the Knight who guards it from me.”

Sam smiles brightly and looks excitedly toward the wooden sword and shield propped up against a shelf on the other side of the room. They’re just his size and he loves playing with them just as much as Dean does. It’s rather disappointing for the both of them that he doesn’t get the chance to use them tonight. The castle has barely even been halfway built before Dean hears footsteps in the room – which is odd. No one should be moving unless he calls the servant who sits behind the tapestries or the soldiers who stand in their little alcoves around the room.

While Sam continues to build the castle, Dean looks up. He didn’t hear the main doors, so it must be the servant’s entrance. No one ever shuts those doors when there are people in the room. It makes it easier to access the room and less likely to disrupt the room’s occupants with squeaky hinges. There’s always a thrill of delight that tickles through him when he’s right about something. Ruby and a stranger he has never seen before are standing in the shadows in the space between the tapestries.

His knowledge of the servants in the castle is rather large and Dean knows Ruby well since Sam says that she’s pretty. If he was old enough to play favourites with the servants, Sam would likely have Ruby waiting on him day and night. Hopefully he’ll grow out of that. Today, Dean will have to tell Sam that he’s wrong. Ruby is not the prettiest person he’s ever seen. That title falls to the man standing next to her and Dean finds it hard to look away.

He knows that he’s staring, but Dean can’t help it. Even his heart starts beating harder when Ruby steps out of the shadows with the stranger and he can see him even better than before. Dean has never seen someone with skin that dark. Not even the knights are that tanned and they spend all day training out in the sun. He has such short hair – shorter than Sammy’s and _his_ hair is even shorter than Dean’s – and it looks so _soft_. Dean wants to touch it and see if it’s softer than Sam’s hair.

As pretty as Dean finds him, it does nothing to block the flood of questions in his head. Who is this person? Why is Ruby with him? Is he a new servant? Where did he come from? Why are they _here_? Why are they coming closer? The questions keep coming and Dean has no answers to them. He hates not knowing things and he likes it even less when Sam asks him and he doesn’t have an answer. It’s always better to be the one to ask Sam a question when he doesn’t know something and that keeps him from feeling more stupid by not being able to answer his questions.

Dean ducks his head to whisper to his brother. “Who is that with Ruby?”

Now Sam is looking too, eyes wide and confused. Of course he has no answer either. Anything Sam knows, Dean already knew before him. That’s the way it works. Now they sit in silence, watching as Ruby leads this new person to them by his wrist. They  bow once they’re close enough but the man does it stiffly, as though he’s unfamiliar and uncomfortable with the action. He’s even tugging at the hem of his tunic and shifting in his shoes, looking more uncomfortable with every passing moment.

“Your highnesses –” Ruby clears her throat and lets go of the stranger’s arm. “- the King has commanded that I introduce you to this man.” She gestures at him. “His name is Castiel and, by the King’s command, he will be replacing the Matron as well as taking over the duty of training you in the art of combat.”

The announcement feels as though it is a slap to the face and Dean can only stare. Matron is being replaced? Why wasn’t he told about this before? Worse yet, why she being replaced by someone that Dean doesn’t know? And someone who looks so _different_ , regardless of how beautiful Dean thinks he is.

“ _Dean_.” Sam hisses at his side and tugs sharply at his arm.

When Dean looks, he’s surprised to find Sam looking scared. Why would he be – The realization strikes him suddenly and if it were any other time, Dean would be upset that Sam figured it out before him. This _Castiel_ looks so different because he isn’t a Lowlander. He’s an _Aladaï_ – a beast on two legs and everything that Matron has told them to fear and despise. His curiosity is replaced with fear and Dean feels suddenly betrayed – both by his father for giving this order,  by Matron for not telling him that she was being replaced, by Ruby for giving this information, and by himself.

An embarrassed blush fills his cheeks. How could he have ever thought that a _heathen_ was _pretty_? Dean shakes his head violently and stands to put himself between Sam and the Aladaï. “No!”

Ruby sighs loudly through her nose and the smile she gives is clearly forced. He learned to tell that apart from a real smile a long time ago. “My apologies, your highness, but the Matron is being removed for her services. She will only ensure that you attend your lessons for the time being. Castiel has his own training before he will take on his full duties, but he will be performing basic tasks for you until then.”

“I said _no_.” Dean’s fists are shaking at his sides and he shakes his head again. Of course the heathen needs to be trained too. But it won’t do any good. You can’t train an animal. “I don’t want him. _We_ don’t want him. He’s one of the _dirty_ people. Matron said they’re _monsters_.”

“Your highness –” She tries to interrupt, but clearly she’s not getting the message.

He stomps his foot and glares at them both. “Tell Father _no_. We want _Matron_.” Even her stern ways and loud complaints are better than to be raised by a barbarian. If this _Castiel_ was to be in charge of them, Dean and Sam would grow up in the mud like paupers, fighting and scrapping like dogs.

The heathen is glaring at him and his hands are curled into fists at his sides. Dean wouldn’t be surprised if he plans on striking them. That’s exactly what a monster like him would do and Dean would expect nothing less from a wild animal like him. And that is exactly why he can’t stay. Dean is going to do all that is in his power as prince of the Lowlands to keep this _monster_ away from his little brother. And to do that, he’s going to have to start by having a talk with his father.

*

Dean is not happy. Talking to his father does _nothing_ and Dean has tried _several_ times since the Aladaï was introduced to him. Apparently his father is completely intent on having this _barbarian_ raise them and Dean cannot understand why no matter how hard he tries. To him, this is just a giant waste of time in all aspects. Not only are Aladaï dirty, but Matron had told him – before she left for good – that they’re dumb as rocks and the King shouldn’t squander everyone’s time with training one.

The only benefit that Dean could first see is that it meant they didn’t have to spend very much time with him in the beginning. But that was only at the start. Now the heathen is with them _all the time_ and Dean hates it. Every time he sees _Castiel_ – his name alone makes Dean’s stomach turn – every time he sees him, Castiel looks angry. And somehow he still looks pretty when he is like that. That only makes Dean hate everything all the more. Barbarians aren’t _pretty_.

Thinking about it only serves to make Dean angry. And he only gets angrier as Castiel gets more and more forceful with his ‘requests’. If it were in his power, Dean knows that Castiel would be _ordering_ him around as if he weren’t a prince. He has even started punishing Dean whenever he doesn’t listen to the ‘requests’, claiming that Father gave him permission to do so. It’s frustrating how _Sammy_ never gets punished. But he always listens and it’s not fair – especially because the heathen keeps singling _him_ out.

When the nail falls from the candle this evening, signaling the end of playtime, Dean’s frustrations grow again. He doesn’t want to stop playing. He glares at the candle with Sam, knowing that Castiel is going to move at any moment. When he steps away from the wall, Dean can feel himself getting defensive before he’s even said anything. Castiel is going to tell them to stop playing now and Dean just knows that somehow he’s going to mock him for how he soiled his bed last night. He hasn’t yet, but he _will_.

Dean turns his glare on him as soon as he gets too close to them. “We want to keep playing.”

“You know the rules your father has laid down for you.” Castiel shakes his head and crouches. “It’s time to prepare for bed.” He starts picking up a few of the toys and puts them away on the shelves. “Come put away the toys you’re playing with before we go to wash up.”

He must be joking. Dean shares a confused look with Sam before he frowns at Castiel. “Putting away the toys is a servant’s job.”

“And I will have someone clean the rest of the room.” Castiel turns back to them, his hands resting on his hips. “But _you_ are completely capable of putting away the toys you have in your hands.”

Without a word, Sam stands up and starts collecting the blocks that had made up the town they were destroying as giants today. He’s _listening_ again and now Castiel is only going to hate Dean more – not that he _wants_ the Aladaï to like him. It would just be nice if he stopped being so _mean_ all the time. But if Sam listens now, then Castiel is going to think worse of Dean for _not_ listening.

As such, Dean doesn’t think twice about reaching out and knocking the blocks out of Sam’s arms. “Don’t do that, Sammy!” He turns his angry glare on Castiel. “This is a _servant’s_ work. We’re _princes_ and we don’t have to do it!” That’s just common knowledge and it’s laughable that this Aladaï hasn’t learned that yet.

Castiel’s jaw goes tight and his eyes narrow in a scary squint. “We _servants_ are busy enough without having to do the very things that you are capable of doing yourself.” He’s practically hissing his words and it’s sending chills of fear down Dean’s spine. One of these days, he’s going to snap and hurt them. “How do you expect to run a kingdom if you can’t even dress yourself on your own? What will you do if your kingdom falls to ruin and you end up as nothing more than a peasant? You’ll starve within a week.”

Dean can feel a flush burn in his cheeks and he throws down the blocks in his hand, standing sharply. “You can’t say things like that to me!” Maybe, if he’s louder, he’ll be able to scare Castiel back too.

“On the contrary, I am here to ensure your survival. What I am _trying_ to teach you – apparently in vain – is how to do that.” Castiel pays no attention to Dean’s display and crosses the room to stand over him. He’s so _tall_ and Dean hates it when he uses his height against him like this. “You’re welcome to do as your please, but the King asks that I keep him apprised of my progress with you. I highly doubt that he’ll be pleased to hear how disobedient his son is.”

He’s doing it again and Dean can feel the bubbling pot of his anger start to overflow. “Stop using my father against me.” He hisses, glaring up at him. “We don’t have to listen to you. I can have my father remove you.” Maybe if he complains enough, or maybe if he _lies_ , he’ll be able to convince Father that an _Aladaï_ is just a poor choice as a guardian.

Castiel has the gall to roll his eyes. “You would do me a great service by it.”

Dean’s whole body is starting to tremble. “If you don’t want to be here, then _leave_.”

“Trust me, my prince. Were it in my power to do so, I _would_.” The words are spit at him like they’re a poison on Castiel’s tongue and Dean almost takes a step back from them, surprised and slightly hurt, though he knows he shouldn’t be. It’s no surprise that Castiel hates him. “I fail to understand why Prince Sam is willing to listen and yet _you_ continue to defy me in ways you never would have if I were Matron.”

Fine. If that’s how Castiel wants to be, the _fine_. He should have his eyes opened to the reason _why_ Sammy does all that he does. “It’s because he’s _afraid_.” Dean hisses it, stepping over to be between Sam and Castiel again. “Matron said your people are _monsters_. Sammy doesn’t want you to kill him in his sleep and take his skin for yourself. And you’re not _Matron_. I don’t have to listen to you because Matron said you’re just a _filthy heathen_.”

Of course, Sam isn’t the only one who is scared. Dean is _terrified_ too. Whenever Sam is around, Dean puts on his brave face to protect him. But he knows one day that Castiel is going to give in to his base desires. He’s a barbarian to his core and some day Dean is going to say the wrong thing. When that happens, Castiel will beat him and on that day he’ll be removed from the kingdom – if not killed for it.

Surprisingly, Dean is not at all satisfied when he watches the anger spread darkly across Castiel’s face and _today_ becomes that day. His heart stutters in his chest when his hand closes around his arm in a bruising grip and he gasps as he’s dragged sharply towards the door. Castiel’s hold is like iron and it _hurts_ , no matter how hard Dean struggles against it. He digs his heels into the floor, but it’s ultimately futile. No matter what he does, he can’t break Castiel’s hold or stop him from pulling him along.

Tears start stinging in Dean’s eyes as his chest grows tight with worry. What is Castiel going to do to him? Is he going to beat him? Kill him? Break his bones one by one until Dean can’t even move? Maybe he’ll cut off all of Dean’s fingers and toes. There are so many possible options and Castiel’s blank face makes all of them a believeable end to this moment. It _terrifies_ Dean and that is why he feels no shame with shouting to Sammy for help.

Castiel barely even blinks until soldiers finally intervene when they’re halfway down the hall. He almost looks surprised when they pull Dean from him – surprised at himself, or at Dean’s tears, or at the audacity of the soldiers for stopping him. Whatever it is that has caught Castiel off guard, Dean doesn’t care about it. All he cares about is putting as much space between them as he can and he runs to Sammy where he’s waiting by Ruby.

Not even the comforting hug of his little brother is enough to calm Dean, but he clings to him anyway. He doesn’t let go of Sam even as Ruby escorts them to their bedroom to assist them with changing into their night clothes and getting into bed. Dean doesn’t care where they took Castiel or what happened to him. All he wants is Castiel to be _gone_. He’s mean and scary and every bit the monster that Matron promised him an Aladaï would be.

As soon as Ruby has left the room, Dean crawls out of his bed and right into Sam’s. He is still sniffling into their hug when the door opens and the flame of a candle brightens that side of the room. Since Castiel’s bedroom is attached to Dean and Sam’s, it’s completely understandable that Dean has another wave of fear wash over him, thinking that Castiel has returned. He relaxes immediately upon sitting up and seeing that it’s Father quietly walking across the room to them.

Dean is waiting for him at the edge of the bed when Father puts the candle down and pulls him into his arms. He kisses Dean’s forehead and does the same to Sam when he crawls over too. “I heard you’ve had an eventful evening.” Before Dean can tell him what happened, Father shushes him with a finger against his lips. “I already know, Dean, and Castiel has learned his lesson. He will not be doing anything like that again.”

Does that mean Castiel is still _here_? He’s still going to be watching over them? Is Father’s sanity slipping? After what happened, how could he even allow Castiel to walk free? That’s impractical and ridiculous and Dean is about to let him know when Father shushes him a second time.

“It was wrong of him to intend to hurt you, but you really should behave better for him, Dean.” He says it softly, but the words still feel like a physical blow. “It’s not easy on him to be in a new land surrounded by so many new people and customs. He’s adjusting as best as he can and you aren’t making things any easier for him.”

The solution to that is simple. “Send him back.”

“I can’t do that, Dean.” Father sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “This is necessary, both for you and our people. One day you’ll understand.”

Any questions or complaints Dean has stay silent inside him. He could say he disagrees again, but it might only upset Father and that’s the last thing Dean wants to do. Father is probably already unhappy enough with what happened this evening, and he’s clearly not pleased that Dean continues to disobey Castiel. But he’s a _servant_ and Dean’s a _prince_. Why should he have to listen to him?

Father kisses their foreheads again and tucks them into Sam’s bed again. “Behave for Castiel tomorrow. If you’re good for him, he’ll be good for you. He is your new Matron and you should treat him as such.”

“Yes, Father.” Dean says flatly, and Sam says it at the same time. For their father, he will at least _try_ to make an effort. But only because he’s asked him for it.

*

Tonight, Sam is in Dean’s bed but the tears are still Dean’s. It feels like ages since the evening when Cas tried to hurt him. For Sam’s sake, he’s stopped saying Castiel. He can’t say it properly and Cas really is just easier for them both. Dean likes it better too, but he still doesn’t like Cas. He’s _tried_ , like his father asked him too, but Cas is making it so hard. And that is why Dean has his face buried in his pillow while Sam rubs his back.

They both go still and silent when the door opens. Of course their first thought is that it’s Cas, but the gentle footsteps go to the window instead of Cas’s bedroom – which is where he’d gone when he left the room the first time. Did he leave his room by the servant’s entrance to it? Then why is he coming back in through their main door? Why has he gone to the balcony doors?

Dean forces himself not to sniffle as he carefully peeks over the edge of the blanket. It’s only by the dim candle in her hand is Dean actually able to recognize Ruby. She’s checking the locks on the balcony door and Dean wonders if it’s because Cas might have forgotten to check them. Either way, he doesn’t care. He needs her to leave before he can keep talking with Sam.

Neither one of them moves or pushes back the blanket again until after Ruby leaves the room, the door clicking shut behind her. As soon as she’s gone, Sam reaches out to rub his back again. “It’s okay, Dean.”

“No, it’s not.” He sniffles loudly and rubs his sleeve under his nose.

“Tomorrow is going to be okay. You’ll see.” Sam whispers, wiggling closer under the cover to pull him into a hug. “I promise. You just need to sleep and it’ll be okay”

“No, it won’t.” Dean knows better. Sam is too young to understand that Cas actually _hates_ him and it’s his life goal to make everything difficult for him no matter how hard Dean tries. “I don’t want to, Sammy. I don’t want tomorrow to come.” He doesn’t. He wants night to freeze so he never has to get out of bed and have Cas look at him like he’s an annoying bug he would rather squish.

Sam squeezes him tightly. “It’s okay, Dean.”

“No, it’s _not_.” Why won’t Sammy just _understand_. “Cas is just going to be mean to me again.” His voice breaks and a new wave of tears starts to fall. “You have it easy, Sammy. And I’m trying really hard to be good too, right? I’ve been good!” He hasn’t talked back in days and he does his best to do everything that Cas asks of him. But nothing he does is good enough for him.

“I know, Dean.” Sam hushes him softly. “I saw.”

Dean shakes his head and rubs the heels of his palms into his eyes. “But Cas _hates_ me. If he was allowed to hit me, I bet he would, Sammy.” A little sob tugs at his throat and Dean does his best to smother it. “I don’t want to do it, Sammy. I don’t want to go to my lessons tomorrow and have Cas be angry at me all day. I _don’t_.”

“Don’t cry, Dean.” He whispers softly and tugs the blanket up a little again. “I’ll sleep here, okay?”

Of course he will. Dean really didn’t expect Sam to sleep anywhere else tonight. Sam is so nice and sweet. It’s no wonder that Cas likes him better than he does Dean. It’s because Dean is bad and dumb and Cas is just going to hate him forever no matter what he does. He’s not even sure if having Sammy with him day in and day out is going to make up for Cas’s outright _hate_.

With another sniffle, Dean nods and starts pulling the blanket up higher. He wants to use it to block out the world. If he pulls it over their heads, then it’s a secret world of only them and no Cas, no Ruby, no Father, no kingdom to rule when he’s older, no _nothing_. Having a secret world of just them always makes Dean want to run away. Steal some food from the kitchen and run with Sammy to the end of the world where no one can tell them what to do or who they have to be.

A shuffling at the glass doors of the balcony catches his attention and Dean pauses with the blanket lifted. They both sit up to look over at it, squinting in the dark. It could be a tree, or a wayward cat has managed to make it up to their balcony. It’s happened before, but Dean has an uneasy feeling swelling in his chest. Sam only confirms that feeling for him.

“Dean, who is that?” He whispers when the door creaks as it swings open, pushed from the outside.

A breeze sweeps through the bedroom, bringing the chill autumn air into the room. When a shadowed figure takes a step into the room, followed quickly by three others, Dean opens his mouth and _shouts_. Sam screams too and the first thought that crosses Dean’s mind is that he hopes Cas doesn’t hate him so much that he won’t try and save them. Before the thought has even finished being fully formed, the door to Cas’s small bedroom bangs open and he’s already throwing himself on one of the four intruders.

Part of Dean really wants to focus on what Cas is doing. He’s never seen him fight before and it’s something that he would really like to see. Father said the Aladaï are practically unmatched when it comes to fighting. But Dean is too busy watching the intruders and putting himself between Sam and them to watch Cas – though he does notice from the corner of his eye that Cas’s first opponent falls over without a sound.

One of the other strangers runs right past the beds and Dean feels his stomach drop through his feet when he hears the lock in the door turn. It will take so long for anyone else to manage to get to them that if Cas can’t do this, then they’re going to be kidnapped or killed or worse. A third person is attacking Cas and the fourth is still standing by the door. Dean tries to keep his eyes on all three while shielding Sam with his body. If anyone fires an arrow or a dart, it will hit him first.

When Sam cries out behind him, Dean nearly loses his footing to glance behind him. Sam is on his knees, his hands fisted in the back of Dean’s nightclothes while he stares at the door. The cloaked figure who had locked the doors is approaching the bed again and Dean wishes he had something – _anything_ – to use as a weapon.

He doesn’t like the hiss of pain he hears from Cas and he would look to make sure that they’re only hope for surviving this hasn’t fallen, but he’s not taking his eyes off the man approaching him and Sam. His blood runs cold when Cas grunts loudly and there’s the sound of a body hitting the floor. He can see from the corner of his eye that it’s Cas who fell.

“Get the princes!” Cas’s opponent hisses. “I’ll finish the Aladaï scum.”

The other man is at the edge of the bed and Dean can only think of one thing to do to protect his little brother. “Run, Sammy! _Hide_!” He shouts it as he throws himself at the attacker. Maybe, if Sam is lucky, he’ll be able to make it to Cas’s room and out into the servant’s halls. No one will catch him there and he’ll be _safe_.

Dean’s eyes burn with tears when the intruder catches him easily. It would be little trouble for him to grab Sam too and Dean won’t let that happen. He fights him as best he can, kicking and flailing and even trying to bite him. The harder it is to hold him, the harder it will be for Sam to be taken at the same time. Sure enough, the intruder ignores Sam. He tucks Dean under his arm as best as he can and starts toward the balcony. The one who had been hanging back there is already running forward to get Sam.

No, no, please no. Don’t let them get him too. Dean squeezes his eyes shut and begs the only God he knows to keep Cas alive – even if it’s just long enough to save them. Let him be okay and fight these intruders. Please, please, _please_.

His prayers are interrupted when his word turns upside down completely. The next thing that Dean knows is a sharp, stinging pain in his head as he tumbles across the balcony. He manages to sit up properly and blink away the wobble in his vision. Dean’s head aches and he can feel blood on his face but he pays it no mind. It’s hard to think about anything else when Cas is nearly naked in his underclothes  and his hands are covered in blood as he slices the throat of the man he tackled.

Cas looks to him when he’s done, expression hard like stone. He only looks more grim when their eyes meet before he stands fully and turns back to the room. That’s right! Sam! Dean tries to stand too, but his legs don’t want to listen to him. There’s still someone else in there and they’re with Sam and Dean can hardly breathe, let alone move – especially when he hears them speak.

“Let me go or I’ll slit his throat.”

Dean doesn’t take his eyes from Cas, even when tears spill down his cheeks again and a small sob passes his lips. Please, let Cas save Sam. Don’t let Sam be hurt. He watches as Cas squares his shoulders and tightens his grip on the sword in his hand.

Even though he barely even blinks, Cas does takes a deep breath. “Close your eyes, Sam.” His voice is soft, gentle, and at odds with the way he’s holding himself. “You too, Dean.”

Dean can’t help gasping. He doesn’t even care that Cas is calling him by name without his title. What surprises him is that Cas is aware of him. Cas knows that he’s watching and it’s likely that he doesn’t like that Dean saw him kill the man on the balcony. Even so, Dean can’t look away. He’s never seen Cas like this before and he holds his breath when he throws the sword in hand, hoping that it strikes the intruder and not Sam.

Besides that, Dean can’t stop staring at _Cas_. He never knew that Cas had tattoos on his back that look like wings, covered with still healing wounds. Where did he get them – both the wounds and the tattoos? And when he can move his mind on from those, Dean can hardly believe that Cas took down four men all on his own. He’s bleeding from his shoulder and thigh, and he’s breathing hard, but even Dean can admit that Cas was _amazing_.

Despite his hatred for Dean, Cas still saved them and _bled_ for them. Cas could have easily let them be taken and saved himself the trouble of having to deal with them daily. But he didn’t. He could have and he didn’t and he got _hurt_ for _them_. It’s not the pain from the cut on his forehead that has Dean sniffling again. He’s just so _relieved_ and touched and a confusing mix of so many emotions that it feels like all he can do right now is cry.

At the first sniffle, Cas turns to him. His whole demeanor softens and he takes a few steps towards him. “Are you alright, De– Your Highness?”

Cas’s voice is still soft and quiet, and it’s everything Dean wants to wrap himself in right now. He has no issue with Cas scooping him up into his arms without another word. Dean also takes no issue with wrapping his arms around Cas’s neck and crying in relief against his throat. They’re _safe_ again and he’s pretty sure that he has never felt this safe in the arms of anyone else aside from his father.

“I have you, my Lord. It’s alright now.” Another comforting whisper accompanies a tight hug and Dean wants to try and make himself relax but he can’t just yet. Not even when Cas goes back into their bedroom. “Come here, Prince Sam.”

There’s a jolt as Sam crashes into them, but then Cas is picking him up too. After that, Dean stops paying attention to what happens. He makes sure one hand is holding onto Sam’s nightshirt too and he focuses on listening to the rumble of Cas’s voice as he tries to soothe them. Cas’s arms are strong enough to carry them – to _protect_ them. Dean feels safe in them, and – more importantly – he feels that _Sam_ is safe. In the end, that’s all that really matters to him.

*

It takes a while for it to happen, but the night does come where Dean actually has a smile on his face when he goes to bed. Surprisingly, it happens not long after the attack. Dean and Sam are still sleeping in a different bedroom where they need to share a bed, and Cas has a thick blanket that he sleeps on by the fire. He has barely left their sides since the attack and Dean has never felt safer.

But there is still a spike of panic when Cas finishes tucking him in and turns away to put out the candles. Dean reaches out to catch the sleeve of Cas’s shirt. These new items of clothing suit him so much better than the tunic and stockings. Cas even carries himself with a comfort that Dean hasn’t seen from him since he arrived.  He likes it.

“You’re staying here tonight too, right?” Dean asks quietly, letting go of his sleeve. He just wants to be sure. Who knows when a night is going to come that Cas will leave.

“I am always nearby, my Lord. No one is going to get you while I’m here.” Cas whispers too and he reaches down to fix the blankets over Dean again. “Will you stay in your bed all night?”

He can feel colour rise in his cheeks at that. Dean did that a lot when he was purposefully trying to aggravate Cas, hoping that one night it would be enough for Cas to give up and go back to the Aladaï lands. It’s almost funny with how Dean would rather have Cas stay even closer now. How could one night change their views of each other so much?

“I will.” Dean nods and curls on his side, closing his eyes. “’Night, Cas.”

“Good night, your Highness.”

The smile in Cas’s voice can be heard and it makes Dean smile too. He listens to the sounds of Cas putting out the candles in the room before he goes to spread out his bedroll. There’s the heavy thud of a log being placed in the fire and the crack of the flames as they consume it.

Dean should be surprised by how easy it is to get along with Cas when he’s not _trying_ to make things difficult for him – and when Cas tries to get along with him too. “Hey, Cas?”

There’s a quiet, amused sigh from the other side of the room. “Yes, Prince Dean?”

 “I like it better when you’re nice.” He really does. If he can help it, Dean wants Cas to always be like this and he’s going to try and make the effort to see it happen.

*

Some days, Dean just can’t help himself. His lessons were just so _boring_ and Cas gave him the golden opportunity to sneak out when he left the room. It’s a pity that Sam wasn’t able to leave with him, but Dean is enjoying his freedom nonetheless. One of his favourite places to do that is in the stables with his favourite black mare with a beautiful streak of silver hair on her nose. She seems to love him too and always neighs loudly whenever she sees him.

Dean has long since learned how to brush her down properly and that’s how he decides to spend the rest of his day. As long as Cas never finds him, Dean could spend the rest of his lessons tending to the mare he plans to claim as his own when he’s old enough. And that’s exactly what he does, standing on a stool next to her to reach across her whole back.

He’s so absorbed in tending to her that he’s caught completely by surprise when strong hands pluck him from his stool. Dean cries out and starts kicking, knowing who it is before he even recognizes the back of the shirt and pants as Cas puts him over his shoulder and slips out of the stall. The mare whinnies loudly and starts stomping in her stall as Cas carries him out of the stables.

“Ca-a-a-a-s!” Dean shouts and whines, doing his best to try and break the hold. He’s nine years old now and Cas should _not_ be able to lift him this easily. It’s sometimes terrifying to know that Cas is so strong. Which means breaking free is impossible and all Dean has is his words. “Don’t make me go back! Please? It’s so _boring_.”

Unsurprisingly, Dean’s pleas go completely ignored. But that doesn’t stop him. “Please, Cas? Just this once?” He grabs handfuls of Cas’s shirt and tugs at it uselessly. “Let me and Sammy go this one time? We’d rather be riding than spending another day in that library? Please?”

But if there is anyone in this castle who follows the rules, it’s Cas. He’s strict, but on most days he’s plenty fair. The only thing he is _never_ lenient about are their lessons – though Dean is confident that one day he’ll make him crack.

Today is not that day. “I cannot do that, my Lord. These are important for your future. But –” He hesitates and Dean’s heart soars with hope. “But, if you sit through the rest of your lessons and _pay attention_ … If you do that, then we can go riding instead of _my_ lessons before supper.”

Dean goes still. That sounds too good to be true. Why would Cas be rewarding him for sneaking out when he should have been listening to his tutors? There must be something dastardly hidden in his offer and Dean tries figuring it out before he says anything further. If he speaks, he might dig himself into a deeper hole than he already has.

At the top of the stairs, Cas stops walks. “What is it?”

He chooses his words very carefully. “That sounds an awful lot like a _reward_ instead of a punishment for escaping my lessons.”

“Consider it bribery.” Cas says simply as he puts Dean on the ground again, though he grabs his wrist immediately and starts pulling him towards the library. There really is no escaping when Cas is on his guard. Father couldn’t have found a better protector for them. “The punishment is what you will have to eat for supper.”

“Aw, Cas, don’t do that!” Dean can already feel his stomach rejecting whatever food Cas is going to pick for him. Somehow, he always manages to find the most disgusting vegetables or combinations of animal parts that he _claims_ is nutritious. He nearly regrets asking; “What is it?”

“Something green.”

Which likely means _vegetable_ and there seems to be a never ending variety of those at Cas’s disposal. Dean groans loudly and slumps. “I hate you.” He doesn’t _really_ mean it. In this moment he might not like Cas that much, but he hasn’t actually hated him in moons. Not since they started getting along.

Cas still sighs and his grip on Dean’s wrist tightens slightly. “We are all _well_ aware of that.”

He sounds defeated and Dean wonders briefly if Cas really does believe that he hates him. That causes something unhappy to twist through his belly and Dean falls silent, looking at the floor as they walk. Finally, a thought occurs to him and Dean tugs at his arm, looking up at Cas curiously. “How do you keep finding me? It’s almost like you’re part hunting hound.” Father’s hounds find anything they’re set out to hunt and Dean is always entertained by it.

“On the contrary, you are just very predictable, your Highness.” He glances down at Dean with a small, smug smile curling the corner of his lips. It’s so rarely that he smiles that Den is stunned by it. “And I would not have to be part of anything if you would just do as you’re supposed to. Prince Sam is practically half your age and _he_ can pay attention to his lessons. Why can’t you?”

The question sound sincerely confused but Dean still frowns at it and then at the floor. “Because Sammy has a head for all these lessons. I like learning, but I like it the way you do it. You don’t just talk about things to us, you _show it_ and let us do it too.” He shrugs and sneaks a look back up at Cas, hoping he can make his point. “In my lessons, all I’m supposed to do is read and listen to people talk and even _you_ know how boring that is.”

Cas nods slowly, a small pained look crossing his face. He _does_ understand and Dean feels victorious at that. When they reach the doors of the library, Cas drops his voice to a whispers and pulls Dean to a stop. “I will try speaking with the tutors. Perhaps we’ll be able to figure something out.”

Dean can hardly believe what he’s hearing and he stares at Cas. Is he serious? Will he really try and make things better for him? After all he’s put Cas through, Cas will still do this for him? That’s – that’s amazing. Dean barely knows what to think about it. If Cas really can make this happen, he will be the most amazing person in Dean’s life without a shadow of a doubt.

“Really?” He breathes the question, almost scared to hear that Cas was joking.

But Cas nods and smiles at him softly. “Yes, really.”

The smile that spreads across Dean’s lips couldn’t be stop if he tried. For the first time in forever, he actually feels _happy_ about going to lessons with the hope that they’re going to change soon. That Cas is even willing to try this for him is casting a new light on him and Dean is actually please to have him around. “Thanks, Cas.”

*

Dean is getting _very_ tired of staring at his ceiling and of cold sweats and of _everything_. This has happened too many nights in a row for his liking and it’s all thanks to his stupid _nightmares_. If he has to call for Cas for the third time in as many nights, he’ll feel so – so _pathetic_. It’s not fair. Why does everyone else get to sleep so soundly? Sam has barely moved since Dean woke up and Cas always seems so refreshed and well rested every morning.

Why does everyone else gets to sleep, but Dean can’t close his eyes without being haunted by images of his father dying? Everyone else saw the same thing he did. They all saw the royal food taster being taken away, lips purple and eyes bulging red with blood, dark veins showing under his skin. That could have been his _father_ and now Dean can’t stop seeing it in his dreams.

He is well aware that the lack of sleep and the horrible nightmares are affecting his moods during the day, but there’s nothing that Dean can do about it. No matter how hard he tries to force himself to think of other things before sleep, but the images just keep coming back and they _haunt_ him. He hates it so much and nothing and no one can help him with it.

Cas gives him a worried look when he comes to wake him up and Dean is already awake. Of course he’s aware that Dean isn’t sleeping properly, but what could Cas possible do for him? Nothing. Not even Cas can help him and Cas can do almost anything.

Sam sits up with a yawn when Cas wakes him. He turns to Dean with a bright little smile. “Hi, Dean. Did you sleep well?”

“Of _course_ I didn’t.” He snaps at him, giving Sam a dark glare. It’s not fair and he throws back the blankets angrily to crawl out of the bed.

Dean ignores the warning look that Cas gives him when he holds out his clothing for the day. The tunic almost rips under his hands as Dean tugs it on over his head. Good. Let it rip. Let something suffer with him. He’s tired and his head hurts and he wants to sleep but he _can’t_. At least some of his anger at the world for this can be released by stomping everywhere and glaring at anyone who even remotely looks like they want to talk to him.

Even his instructors don’t want to deal with him. As soon as Cas all but drags him into the library for his lessons, the instructors announce that they want to cancel the lessons. It is of little surprise that Cas insists that the lessons continue even though Dean would rather find somewhere he could be left alone for the rest of the day.

Being forced to suffer through his lessons does little to fix his sour mood – especially when he falls asleep during them. Cas may have managed to change their lessons to be more interesting, but Dean still can’t stay awake when he’s _this_ tired and can barely focus on anything. It’s no surprise that he Cas shakes him awake from _another_ nightmare in the middle of their lessons.  That only worsens Dean’s mood as the day drags on.

By the time they night comes again and Cas pulls back the blankets on Dean’s bed, he has decided that he isn’t going to go to bed because he won’t be sleeping tonight. He can read a book, or play a game. As long as Dean has something to occupy himself, he doesn’t have to go to bed and he won’t have to sleep and he won’t have to have nightmares.

“My Lord, it is time for you to _sleep_.” Cas sounds just as fed up as Dean feels and he holds out the nightclothes again.

“No. I don’t want to.” Dean shakes his head and turns away.

Sighing, Cas crouches until he is at the same height as him. “I know that you have been having nightmares. Let me brew you a tea that will give you a dreamless sleep.”

“I don’t want it.” He crosses his arms and turns away again. Dean has never liked tea and he doesn’t understand how something as simple as a _drink_ could stop his nightmares.

“But you need it. Just as you need to go to bed.”

Dean stomps his foot and turns to glare at him. “I _said_ that I don’t _want_ to!”

The room is quiet for a moment as both Cas and Sam stare at him. Cas is the only one to move and makes a frustrated noses and runs a hand over his face. “My Prince, you are keeping your brother awake and that is not fair to him.”

“ _Good_.” He hisses and turns a glare to Sam. He shouldn’t be able to sleep either if Dean can’t.

“That’s not nice.”

“I don’t care.” Dean sniffs and looks away from him. It’s a lie, because he _does_ care that he’s upsetting both Cas and Sam, but it’s hard to expression that when it feels like he’s been placed inside skin too tight for his body.

Cas sighs and reaches out to put a hand on his shoulder. “I understand that you’re scared –”

“I’m not _scared_.”

“– but that is no excuse to be such a –” He cuts himself off and presses his lips together into a thin line. Clearly he was about to say something that he shouldn’t.

Curiosity makes Dean take a step closer, his voice quiet. “Such a _what_ , Cas?”

“Nothing.” He stands up and turns away, but Dean grabs his sleeve to keep him from walking away.

“No. You were going to say something.” Dean tugs at him sharply and gestures widely with his other hand. “Go ahead and _say it_. Speak your mind. I want to hear it.”

For a moment, Cas simply stares at him. And then he leans down until they are nearly nose to nose. “A _brat_.” He hisses. “I’m trying to _help_ you and you’re being a _brat_.”

It shouldn’t sting, but it does and Dean frowns at him. “I don’t want _your_ help.”

A dry laugh scrapes out of Cas’s throat and he pulls away to throw his arms in the air, completely exasperated with everything else. “You certainly have no problem with _my_ help when it comes to the rest of your life! Perhaps his spoiled highness would prefer cleaning his own linens, dusting his own room, getting his own meals, and managing his own day?”

Dean crosses his arms again. “No.”

“It is _always_ ‘no’ with you! I have made every effort to be kinder to you; to take into account that you are a _child_ and that Matron raised you with hatred in your heart.” Cas’s hand shake at his sides, as though he’s trying to hold himself back from more wild gestures, but his cheeks get more and more red. “Your behavior has improved, but you still have no _respect_. Apparently you do for almost everyone else _but_ me and I’m at a loss for what it is you want me to do to earn it. How many times do I have to protect you, save you, and care for you until I stop being a _monster_ in your eyes?”

Oh. Is – is this what Cas really thinks of him? His words sting just as they did before, but a different feeling is filling him. It feels – it is oddly refreshing to have someone be so blunt with him. Dean can’t recall anyone aside from Sam or his Father who has ever spoken so candidly with him. Everyone else is so _careful_ about what they say or do around him because of his lineage. Not even Matron would have ever spoken to him like this.

No one has ever treated him like just another child – like he was a _person_ instead of just a _prince_.

The realization of what he just said and to whom strikes Cas suddenly and his fury deflates quickly, looking more shocked with himself than anything else. He looks to his feet, ashamed, but all Dean can think is that he has never known Cas to be so _intense_ about anything that wasn’t in regards to fighting. And he’s fairly certain that Cas has never said so much at once in all the time that Dean has known him.

This has been so refreshing that Dean actually _likes_ it and he can only think of one thing to say right now. “Interesting.”

Cas actually flinches when Dean moves to pick up his nightclothes. No one says anything while Dean changes and climbs into bed, thinking solely about everything Cas just said. He watches Cas, noting how he hesitates before moving to tuck Sam into bed and again when he turns to do the same for Dean.

He clears his throat and Cas flinches. “Cas –”

“I –” Cas interrupts, looking both uncomfortable and chastised. “My apolo–”

“Don’t apologize.” It’s his turn to interrupt and he holds up his hand to keep Cas from saying anything more. “I want you to always speak your mind around me. Understand?”

The command only makes Cas frown in confusion. “I – Pardon?”

“If I’m being a brat, tell me.” Dean explains as he lays down to pull the blanket up to his shoulders. “I don’t care if you should or shouldn’t do it. I want you to swear to me on your honour as an Aladaï that you will always speak your mind to me.”

“But – That would be improper, your Highness.” Cas shifts on his feet, still looking confused – likely about why he isn’t being punished for speaking out against him. “Are you certain?” Dean nods and Cas takes a deep breath. “I swear… on my honour as an Aladaï and as your protector that I will always – I will speak my mind to you.”

That makes Dean far happier than it likely should. But why shouldn’t he be happy when he could very well be treated like an actual person by someone now. He wants this and the fact that Cas is willing to give it to him is extremely satisfying. All he can do is smile happily. “Thank you, Cas.”

When the lights are put out and Cas leaves the room, Dean has no problem closing his eyes and sleep comes to him rather quickly. For the first time in what feels like ages, Dean’s sleep that night is completely free of nightmares.

*

Why does everyone else eat so _slowly_? It’s so boring sitting around waiting for Sam to carefully pick through his food to avoid the things he don’t likes, or for Lisa to be so proper with her utensils. Cas isn’t normally as bad as them, but he started eating long after they did and he’s still popping berries into his mouth while he looks at the forest around them. He’s always on guard, after all. But nobody ever talks when they’re eating and now Dean is _bored_.

Luckily, there are rocks within reach and Cas is always fun to bother. Everyone else would just put up with him, but Cas only tolerates it for so long before he reacts. And very little in Dean’s life is as entertaining as when he manages to get Cas to drop his stoic façade. While Lisa and Sam make small talk about their meals, Dean starts flicking stones at Cas hoping to land one in his bowl of various fruits and vegetables and dried meats.

The first stone misses, but the second lands on Cas’s knee. All he does is sigh and flick it off the blanket that they’re sitting on. The third lands somewhere between Cas’s legs and is essentially lost. The fourth lands on Cas’s knee again and Dean frowns at his terrible aim. He needs to get better at it. Cas picks up this one again, but instead of throwing it away like the other, he bounces it in his palm and fixes Dean with a narrow eyed stare.  

“If you continue to flick these stones at me, my Lord, I will be forced to remind you that _I throw harder than you_.” After a brief pause, Cas tilts his head and smiles. “And I have better aim.”

Dean would be upset if he didn’t already know that this was true. And besides, he and Cas managed to make Lisa and Sam to laugh and that is never a bad thing. He grins happily at Cas while Sam cleans his face with a damp napkin Cas gives him. After rinsing the napkin, Cas hands it to Dean to do the same and he does so without further prompting. His cheeks _do_ feel a little sticky when he smiles.

While Lisa’s servants clean up for them, Sam stands up and grabs Cas’s sleeve. “I want to explore the forest. Can we, Cas? Please?”

That sounds like fun and Dean is halfway to standing too when Lisa beats him to it. “We just finished eating.” She shakes her head and gets to her feet. “We can explore after. Right, Cas?”

“After what, my Lady?” Cas only looks to her in confusion, a frown pinching his eyebrows together in a way that Dean has decided is adorable.

He won’t say it out loud, but he has also come to the conclusion that he _still_ thinks Cas is beautiful. If anything, that has become more true over the few years that Cas has been here with them. And Dean absolutely will not say anything about that. Even Sam doesn’t know about how Dean sometimes (often) thinks that when he looks at Cas.

Lisa picks up her skirts and runs across the field to where the horses are. She stands on her tip toes to dig something out of the saddle bags. Dean gets briefly excited when she pulls out a book of fairy tales that they’ve often read together both her and at home with with their own copy. He wouldn’t mind letting their food settle in their bellies while reading some of their old favourites. But his excitement sputters and dies out when Lisa comes back to drop the book in Cas’s lap and sits in front of him, looking at Cas expectantly.

Does she expect Cas to read it to her? Doesn’t she know that Cas can’t read or write their language? Dean never thought much about it, and he certainly never thought that it was something that Cas is embarrassed about. But the blush rising up the back of Cas’s neck is leading him to believe otherwise now. Something almost _protective_ swells in Dean’s chest and a quick idea forms in his mind.

They all look to him in surprise when Dean takes the book from Cas’s lap and puts it out of the way. “That’s full of old stories. I want to hear _new_ ones.” He looks up at Cas with a big, hopeful smile. “Tell us a different story, Cas.”

Any relief Cas had showed fades away and he slumps slightly. “Like what?”

“Anything!” Sam throws himself into the empty space on Cas’s lap. A jealous knot ties itself in Dean’s chest that he didn’t think of taking that spot for himself – though at ten years he is much bigger than Sam is at six. He tries not to frown at Sam when he looks upside down at Cas to ask another question. . “Do Aladaï have stories?”

“Of course we do.”

Dean doesn’t frown, but he does pout at Sam as he takes the space next to Lisa. “Then tell us one of those, Cas. Tell us something about – I don’t know. Where did the Aladaï come from?” They had to have come from somewhere, right?

Cas stares at them blankly for a moment before he tilts his head back to look at the sky. It takes him a little while, but when he looks back down, he has a small smile on his lips. He must have picked a story to tell and Dean leans back on his hands, ready to listen and excited to hear more about the Aladaï – because Dean is almost completely certain that Matron and everyone else has been wrong about them.

*

The whole time that Cas recites the story about Aïnkin and Kuïn and how they helped create the world, Dean can only stare at him. His story itself is amazing and one of the best that he’s ever heard, even if it does raise a bunch of questions. But what Dean likes best about it is the way Cas told it. He spoke as though there was a fire burning inside of him. His enthusiasm for the story could only be matched by his enthusiasm when he trains them. Watching Cas talk with so much _intensity_ has warned Dean from the inside out. It’s a nice change from how Cas always holds himself so stoically.

A silence descends around them after Cas finishes talking and Lisa is the one to break it in a hushed whisper. “Aïnkin and Kuïn became the stars.”

Cas looks delighted that she figured it out and he nods. “Yes, my Lady, you’re right. They live on in the heavens as the sun, the moon, and the stars.”

Sam moved to sitting in front of Cas during the story and he gets up on his knees. He reaches out and pulls one of Cas’s hands up toward the trees. “But if the Aladaï have skin the colour of trees, why aren’t you brown too?”

“Because long before I was born, the ancestors of my tribe had children with the pale skinned ones – possibly the ancestors of you Lowlanders.” Cas explains it all while he pulls back a corner of the blanket and starts drawing something in the dirt. “The Aladaï used to live everywhere before we settled into our own lands when your people laid claim to the lowlands. Where I come from, there are still many tribes that have skin much darker than my own.” He gestures to one side of the circles he’s drawn. “Specifically, the tribe’s skin gets darker the farther they lived from the Lowlands. Do you understand?”

Dean nods with the others, but there is a question on his tongue. “But, Cas, you’re saying that everything came from _trees_. That’s not what the people in the Church say.” And the Church people say quite a bit. There is a lot of it that Dean finds unbelieveable, but if so many people believe in it, then it must be true, right?

Cas’s face pinches into an unhappy frown and it takes him a little while to think about his answer before he gives it. “Everyone has their own beliefs, your Highness. All cultures have their own legends and myths to go with their own histories. Some believe that our world is actually carried in the cradle of the horns of a giant Moose God. Others believe in an entire pantheon of Gods instead of just one.”

He shrugs and smoothes the blanket out again. “You see, my Lords, even if you don’t believe in the same God – or Gods – as someone else, you should still be accepting of their religion. It –”

Both Lisa and Sam interrupt Cas at the same time and Dean glares at them while they both try talking at the again, and again, and again. They glare at each other when Cas holds up his hands to silence them. “Your Highness, you should allow a Lady to go first.”

Sam’s pout is unmatched as looks at Cas with confused squint. “Do you have to keep talking like that?” My Lord, my Lady, your Highness – do you have to keep doing that when it’s only us?” She gestures at their small group. “It’s annoying. My attendants only have to refer to me by title when we’re not alone.” Her attention turns to Dean and he almost flinches from it. “You don’t make _me_ call you by your title.”

Cas gives Lisa a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes and it leaves Dean with a bad taste in his mouth. “It’s what is proper, my Lady. And Prince Dean allows it because you are his friend.”

Lisa’s frown gets darker and she narrows her eyes at Dean. “Does that mean that Cas isn’t your friend? You spend every day with him. He would give his _life_ for you. He –”

“Lady Lisa, please.” Cas interrupts her before Dean can say anything. “What his Highness thinks of me doesn’t matter. There are formalities that must be followed and it’s not proper to call him by anything but his title.”

Dean doesn’t like this conversation. He doesn’t like the way Lisa is looking at him and how Cas _isn’t_ looking at him. Does Cas really think that they’re not friends? They _are_ , aren’t they? That’s why Dean lets Cas speak his mind to him and that’s why Cas eats his lunch with them instead of separate like Lisa’s servants. They’re _friends_ and it just – it had never occurred to Dean that Cas should call him anything other than by his title.

“Forget proper then.” He stands up sharply and stretches his arms above his head. His hands rest on his hips when he turns to Cas, his decision made. “You have my permission to call us by our names when it’s just us. Even when we’re back at the castle, you only have to use our titles when there are other people around, okay?”

That way, no one can complain that Cas is being too informal with them. Dean is already well aware that some of the other servants complain to each other behind Cas’s back about the special liberties he gets to have thanks to being the prince’s guardian. Since Cas is supposed to be watching over them all the time, he doesn’t need to do even half of the things the other servants do.

Cas stares at him for a moment, eyes wide. A small smile slowly spreads across his lips, warm and _happy_.That smile makes Dean’s insides feel like they’re wriggling like live worms. Eventually, Cas does nod. “As you wish – Dean.”

It feels amazingly good to have Cas say his real name. Dean gives Lisa a triumphant grin for accomplishing something that made Cas happy too. She looks just as happy with it as Dean feels and returns his smile.

“You were going to say something, Sam?” Cas clears his throat and turns his smile to Sam, continuing the conversation that had been lost before.

Sam gives him a confused little look before he remembers. “If we’re allowed to believe in any God or Gods that we want, can we believe in other things too?”

“Such as?”

Lisa has bad manners for a lady and she leans forward, cutting Sam off again. “If I wanted to believe that there are monsters and magic and witches and wizards in the world, I can?”

“Of course.” Cas nods and smiles at her.

“What about fairies? Can I believe in fairies and unicorns and mermaids and –” Sam is on his feet now, practically bouncing with an excitement that Dean doesn’t seem to be sharing right now. His happiness is stemming more from feeling like he’s taken a big step with Cas today – one that he didn’t realize needed to be taken but it feels so good to have done it.

Cas’s smile grows wider and it makes the worms wiggle more inside of Dean. “You can believe in anything you want to believe in, Sam. That’s the power of belief.” When he turns that smile on Dean, he almost loses the ability to breathe. “Is there anything that you want to believe in, Dean?”

That’s a good question. Dean isn’t sure what he believes in. He has too many questions for the Church to want to invest all of his belief in a God he barely understands. And why should he believe in magic and fairies when he’s never seen one? It only makes sense to believe in the things in knows are real – what he has seen proof of. If anything, he believes in – oh. That’s his answer.

Dean looks at Cas and smiles. “I don’t need to believe in creatures I’ve never seen. Everything I want to believe in is right here.”

And Dean means that he believes in all of them. He believes in Cas and the strength of his body, the wit of his mind, his loyalty, and his honour. He believes in Sam and their bond as brothers, his neverending smarts, and his kindness. He believes in Lisa and her sharp mind, her kind smiles, and her big heart.

His answer must have been the right one, because it incites a big, bright smile from Cas. He looks so _happy_ – happier than Dean has ever seen him before. Dean’s heart skips when Cas actually tips his head back and _laughs_. This is without a doubt the first time that Dean has ever heard him laugh and it’s such a nice sound that Dean can barely understand why he’s never heard it. His surprise – and the surprise mirrored on Sam and Lisa’s faces – only makes Cas laugh more. The sound of it forces a smile out of Dean and he can’t stop grinning because of it.

Cas’s smile softens when he looks to him again and Dean feels like his chest is swelling with happiness. “Those are very good things to believe in, Dean.”

*

Dean likes figuring things out for himself and using his hands. Somehow, at some point, Cas learned this. This morning he surprised Dean and Sam with a gift he had made just for them. When he showed it to them, it was a painting of flowers done on a large, thin, flat piece of wood and mounted into a frame. But there had been cracks all through it and Dean was confused by it until Cas picked up the painting and tilted the frame forward until the painting fell apart, spilling across the blanket of Dean’s bed in several pieces.

Behind the painting there was another flat piece of wood that the painting had been resting on. Cas mixed up all the pieces and told Dean that this is a puzzle he needs to put together again. There are easily over a hundred pieces to the puzzle and Dean and Sam have been working on putting it back together in the frame for a while now.

This is so new and interesting and even though they only have half the puzzle put together so far, Dean has already begged that Cas gets more made with more complicated paintings and larger and with smaller pieces. Dean wants a _challenge_ and this puzzle is fun. Cas had explained that this is a game that Aladaï children play and Dean wonders what other games they have. He likes seeing the picture unfold as every new piece is placed back in the frame.

After a while, Dean looks up from where he and Sam are sitting on the bed with the puzzle. Cas is standing at a side table on the other side of the room. Usually it is full of candles and statuettes and things, but today it has been cleared for Cas to work at it. Next to him is a basket of laundry full of sheets and blankets, and Cas is meticulously folding them one at a time.

There are no lessons today and with the heavy rains outside, there was no chance of going out for a walk or horseback ride. Dean and Sam had been disappointed, especially since the majority of the toys in their playroom have lost their luster. They do play with them every other day, but there’s only so many times you can pretend to be knights before you’re bored of it. That’s why the new puzzle is so interesting. So, while they work on that, Cas had decided that he wanted to be useful and had baskets of laundry brought here for him to fold.

Dean has a puzzle piece in his hand, ready to put it on the frame, but he can’t stop staring at Cas right now. There’s something about Cas doing servant’s work that Dean doesn’t like. Cas just doesn’t feel like a _servant_ to him anymore and thinking of him being one doesn’t sit well with Dean. As his friend and his protector, Cas deserves a better life than simply _serving_ him. But what can he do about it?

Sam takes the puzzle piece out of Dean’s hand to add it to the board. Dean pays no attention to it. He keeps watching Cas, trying to think of ways that he’s been taught to raise someone’s status. When he’s king, Dean could knight him. But that would mean that Cas would be a part of the army. He could be sent away if they ever went to war and he could be called to train with the knights instead of staying here at Dean’s side.

But – but maybe that’s something Cas would prefer? Dean may not want Cas to leave, but what if Cas does? He may smile now, and laugh more often, but that could just be an act. Dean wants Cas to stay with him, just not as a servant. Is it possible for Cas to be his guardian without being a servant? He can’t remember and Dean waits until Cas excuses himself briefly to take the laundry back to the laundresses, promising that someone will be waiting just outside the door if they need anyone.

As soon as Cas has shut the door behind him, Dean puts his hands over the puzzle and turns to Sam. “I don’t want Cas to be a servant anymore.”

Sam frowns at him, obviously not happy that he can’t continue with the puzzle. “But he was traded to Father as a part of the treaty to _be_ a servant and our protector.”

Dean sighs and lets Sam have the pieces again. “I _know_ that. But if I wanted him to not be a servant anymore, but still be here as our protector – what could we do?”

“I don’t know.” He shrugs and goes back to sorting the pieces. “You could try asking Father to knight him. That might help.”

Absolutely not. “He could get sent away if he was knighted.”

Sam sighs and gives him a helpless look. “I don’t _know_ , Dean.” He clearly doesn’t like being disrupted while he’s trying to solve the puzzle. “I haven’t started learning any of that stuff yet. Father would probably know. You should ask him.” After he places another piece in the frame he looks up at Dean again. “Father has a council, right? What if you made Cas a part of your council when you’re crowned as the King?”

Oh. That – that is a beautiful idea and Dean grins at him. “Sam, you’re a genius!”

“I know.” He sounds too smug for his own good. “Now, help me finish this puzzle.”

But Dean’s mind is buzzing with planning now and he has all but completely forgotten the puzzle. “Cas would need to know how to read and write to be on the council, right?”

“Probably.”

“I’m going to talk to Father.” He stands up on the bed, upsetting the pieces Sam has nicely organized in piles around him. “Maybe he can arrange for Cas to start taking lessons.”

Sam sighs loudly and tugs Dean back to sit beside him. “I want to finish this before dinner. Cas said if we could figure it out before then, he would take us out for a horse ride tomorrow when the weather has cheered up. Besides, Father is busy. He won’t be able to see us until we have that supper he scheduled with us in a few days.”

“Fine, fine.” Dean huffs and makes the mental note to talk to his Father the next time that he sees him. It might be a long time before he will ever be able to promote Cas from the ranks of servitude, but there is a heavy sense of conviction spread over the idea. This is something Dean knows _needs_ to be done. It must happen and he will do all that he can to see it carried out.

*

“Hey, Sam?” Dean whispers into the dark of their bedroom, staring across the space between their beds where he can just make out the lump that is Sam under the blanket on his own bed.

Cas put out the candles not too long ago, so Sam should hopefully still be awake. He holds his breath and waits until he hears Sam roll over with a sleepy mumble. “What, Dean?”

“I’m going to marry Cas.”

It’s something that Dean has spent all day thinking about and this is what he has decided is the best course of action. Of course he’s still going to make sure that Cas is put on his council and is no longer a servant, but Dean still wants _more_ for him. On top of that, he wants Cas to be with him always and forever. If he marries Cas, then they’ll be together for the rest of their lives. And as his Queen, Cas would never have to work again.

That’s what Dean wants. He wants to take care of Cas forever. As his Queen, Cas could have a protector of his own and he wouldn’t have to be hurt by anything anymore. Dean doesn’t like that Cas is still limping from an assassination he foiled the other day or that there are bruises all up and down his leg. Cas would be safe as his Queen and he would share Dean’s bedroom. He could sleep next to him every night and they would share their meals. They could hold hands and hug all the time.

No matter what he thinks about it, nothing about this plan sounds bad to him.

“You can’t marry Cas, Dean.” Sam mumbles around a yawn.

“Yes, I can.” Dean frowns at him. He had thought Sam would love this idea. “I’m going to be King. I can do whatever I want.”

With a sigh, Sam sits up. “But he’s a _boy_.”

“So?”

Sam knuckles at his eyes. “So, you can’t marry a boy. The Church said so.”

Oh, right. That sours the happy feelings Dean has had sitting in his chest since he hatched this plan. He frowns and rolls onto his back to stare at the ceiling. “I don’t care. Cas is gonna be my Queen.”

“That’s dumb.”

His stomach twists unhappily and Dean trolls over onto his other side, presenting his back to Sam. He had thought that Sam would be his biggest supporter with this. Sam likes Cas too and he knows better than anyone how much Dean wants Cas to be around forever. It hurts quite a bit that Sam thinks his idea is a terrible one.

“ _You’re_ dumb.” He mumbles into his pillow, hoping Sam hears him.

Sighing again, Sam shuffles in his bed again. Dean will show him. What does Sam know anyways? He’s only eight years. Dean will be turning _twelve_ after the winter months have come and gone. Of course he knows so much more than Sam. And it’s not _dumb_ to want to marry Cas. He likes Cas. He wants him safe and nearby and _here_. Sam is the stupid one for thinking it’s _dumb_.

By morning, Dean hasn’t forgotten Sam’s words at all. He can hardly look at his brother without glaring at him, even though Sam seems perfectly alright with it. Cas looks confused as he prepares them both for riding out to Lisa’s lands again. They’ve had picnics with her at least twice a fortnight since the weather turned warm enough for it. Father has been insisting that they visit her more often, though Dean doesn’t quite understand why.

In truth, he doesn’t care. These picnics are one of the few times that Dean and Sam get to leave the castle grounds and it feels great to be outside those walls. Even though they’re still being watched over and they’re just going to the protective walls of another keep, Dean still enjoys it. The change of scenery is always nice.

Today is not so nice. As soon as they reach their usual clearing, Sam takes Lisa and Dean by their hands and drags to them to the far side away from where Cas and the other servants are setting up the picnic. There is a collection of a mushrooms of various sizes and some in funny shapes that Sam found last time they were here and he wants to check to see if they’re still there. Unsurprisingly, they are.

While they are all crouched around the mushrooms, Sam looks up. “Lisa, do you want to know what Dean said last night?”

Dean can feel heat flood his cheeks. “Keep your mouth _shut_ , Sammy!”

Lisa looks between them, her eyes bright with curiosity. “What did he say?”

“He said that he’s going to make Cas his Queen!” Sam whispers loudly, turning a teasing smile to Dean.

The reaction that Lisa has is nothing like Dean expects or what Sam was hoping for. A happy, bright smile fills her face and she claps her hands together. “That is _so_ sweet!”

“But he’s a _boy_ , Lisa!” Sam insists, crinkling his nose and frowning at her.

She tilts her head, confused. “So? That doesn’t change that I find it sweet.”

With a victorious grin, Dean throws his arm around Lisa’s shoulders. “See! Lisa agrees with me!”

Sam pouts and crosses his arms. “But the Church says that you can’t marry a boy.”

“Well, we didn’t always have the Church.” Dean reminds him, remembering what Cas said about it and how it came to this country when Father was still just a boy. “I bet boys married other boys all the time before they came along. Right, Lisa?”

“Right!”

“Now you’re _both_ being dumb.”

Lisa’s frown makes Sam flinch back slightly. “Why? Is it because you don’t like Cas?”

The question makes Dean’s stomach drop sharply and he looks at Sam with wide, worried eyes. Really? Is that the case? Since when? But Sam looks just as surprised by the question and he shakes his head viciously. “No, I didn’t say that! I love Cas.”

A jealous burn flares in Dean’s chest and he narrows his eyes at Sam. “You can’t love Cas. _I_ love Cas.”

Lisa’s smile turns sly. “But Ilove Cas _too_.”

His glare gets turned on her. “You’re not helping.”

She only smiles wider and stands up. “What if I want to marry Cas too?” Before Dean can tell her she can’t, she tuts at him and shakes her finger. “Why not? I’m a girl and he’s a boy. By Sam’s logic, it makes more sense that I be the one to marry him.”

“ _No_.” That would only mean that Cas would leave the castle to live on Lisa’s lands. He would be so far away and Dean can feel a panic forming in his belly just at the thought of not getting to see Cas everyday. Even his scariest glare does nothing to make Lisa’s smile fall. “ _I’m_ going to marry Cas.”

“Neither of you can marry him.” Sam interrupts, looking desperately between them as though they’ve both lost their common sense. “He’s a _servant_.”

Dean crosses his arms and frowns at Sam. “He won’t be when I’m the king. Remember?”

Before Sam can reply, Lisa gathers up her skirts in her hands and starts running away from them. She laughs and calls over her shoulder. “The first one to get to Cas gets to marry him!”

For a moment, Dean stares after her, caught off guard by her sudden announcement. He’s thrown into movement when Sam knocks into him as he runs past himself. Does that mean that Sam wants to marry Cas too? How dare they! It was _his_ idea and _he’s_ the one who actually wants Cas around forever. Dean takes off after them, overtaking and passing Sam with ease.

Cas is sitting on the blanket on the other side of the clearing, carefully unwrapping plates and bowls and setting them out. He’s completely oblivious to the race being had right now, but he has a small smile on his face as he works. Being cooped up in the castle has never been something that Cas likes and he really does enjoy being out here with them. Cas looks _happy_ and when he looks up to see them running to him, he tilts his head curiously just like he always does.

Dean’s heart twists and he leans into his run more, throwing his all into it. He’s running for Cas right now and, for him, Dean would run to the edge of the world and throw himself into the void. In this moment, Dean knows he would do anything for Cas. He would fight off a thousand armies and conquer a thousand countries. He would build a tower to the moon if Cas asked him too. And Dean _will_ win this race. He will win it _for Cas_.

Lisa is almost to the blanket when Dean manages to pull ahead of her. He throws himself across Cas’s lap, ignoring Cas’s startled cry of his name when he does it. Laughing, Dean scrambles up until he’s sitting with his back to Cas’s chest and grabs at his arms to pull them around himself.

“I _win_.” He laughs, grinning up at Lisa’s pout triumphantly and continues smiling at her smugly while she slumps to the blanket next to them. Sam catches up to them and he drops into the place next to her, pouting himself though he still rolls his eyes at their antics. His blatant pessimism is spoiling Dean’s delight at winning.

“What did you win?” Cas’s voice rumbles through his back and Dean can hear the smile in it.

“The race!” Dean announces loudly, giving both Lisa and Sam a sharp look that should hopefully tell them that he wants them to keep silent about the true nature of their bet. He hasn’t broached the subject of Cas joining his council when he is king yet, let alone anything about Cas being his Queen. Dean doesn’t want Cas to know about that until he’s ready himself.

To change the subject, he tilts his head back to look at Cas upside down. “What are we eating today?”

Cas smiles down at him with a wry, fond look that makes Dean’s heart feel like it’s flying. He picks up a plate and hands it to Dean, apparently perfectly content to let Dean eat his meal while sitting in his lap. That realization only has a cascade of butterflies flying through Dean’s chest.

He really can’t wait for the day he asks Cas to be his Queen and for Cas to say ‘ _yes_ ’. It has yet to occur to him that Cas might give any other kind of answer. It’s not until later that night, when Cas has left them in the dark to go to sleep, does Sam remind him of that possibility.

“What if Cas says ‘ _no_ ’?”

Dean didn’t know a whisper could scare him so much and he doesn’t like the way his heart twists at that thought. “What?”

Sam sits up in his bed and Dean tries his best not to look at him. “What if Cas doesn’t want to be your Queen? What if he doesn’t want to stay here at all?”

His fingers curl in the blankets. “He wouldn’t say that.” Dean is certain he wouldn’t.

“But Cas hated it when he first came here, remember?”

He tries not too and squeezes his eyes shut. “So? That was years ago. Cas likes it here now.”

“I know. But what if he wants to go back one day? This isn’t his homeland. He probably has family and friends that he was forced to leave behind when he came here.” Sam is being his voice of reason and Dean hates it.

“This is his home now.” He insists, rolling over and away from him. Maybe if he’s not looking, Sam will stop talking. “Cas won’t leave us. He won’t leave _me_.” When Sam takes a breath, Dean pulls his blanket up higher. “I’m done talking about this now.”

At first he thinks Sam has given it up, especially when he hears him lay down again. But after a while, Sam’s loud whisper reaches him. “If Cas wants to be your Queen – if it’s what he wants too, then you have my full support, Dean. I love you both and if you two could be happy together, then I would want nothing more than that.” He pauses and sighs. “But there are just other things you need to think about first. I don’t want you to be hurt by this.”

Dean pulls one of his pillows over his head, trying to block out his voice. Sam is four years his younger than him. He’s too young to know anything – even if he’s one of the smartest people Dean knows. But Sam’s words have planted _doubts_ in his head now and it’s all Dean can think about. It makes falling asleep that night _very_ hard.

*

The winter winds are whistling outside the windows and Dean is still worried that Cas would rather leave then be his Queen. It’s been bothering him in the back of his mind for moons now as something that he only thinks about when he has nothing else to occupy his attention. He’s even thinking about it today, sitting next to his father.

Cas had dropped him and Sam off at their playroom not long after supper and Father had joined them. Father had surprised them with a new puzzle, inspired by the ones Cas has been having made. Sam is spread out on the floor of their playroom with the new puzzle – the pieces exceptionally smaller than any of the ones they’ve put together before. This time the painting is of a herd of horses galloping across a wide field.

Dean is busy thinking about whether or not he should ask his father about Cas being his Queen when he’s startled from his thoughts by Father clearing his throat. “Dean, there is something I need to speak to you about.”

He looks up at him, head tilted curiously. Father never takes his eyes from Sam. “I don’t suppose your tutors have made you aware of the practice of arranged marriage, have they?”

It feels as though someone has dumped cold water down his spine and that everything in the world is holding still. Has Father learned about Dean’s plans to marry Cas? Does he frown upon them or does he approve of it? But this is about _arranged_ marriage, isn’t it? Oh no.

“Yes, sir, they have.”

“Good. This makes things easier.”

Dean swallows around the lump in his throat. “Easier, sir?” No, no. Please, no.

Father looks to him then. “When you were younger, your mother and I made an arrangement with Baron Braeden regarding his daughter, the Lady Lisa.”

He can feel his stomach shrivel up and he can only think of one thing to say. “No.”

“Don’t make this difficult, Dean.” Father sighs and he starts to frown. “When you come of age in four years, you will be marrying Lady Lisa. She will be your Queen.”

This isn’t what he wants and it ruins all his plans on giving Cas a better life and keeping him here. Dean can feel his face getting hot and he’s on his feet before he even knows what he’s doing, his hands shaking at his sides. “I don’t _want_ to marry Lisa!”

“That is not for you to decide.” His frown deepens and usually, Dean would be afraid of it. Today it does nothing but infuriate him.

“But it’s _my_ life!”

Father only shakes his head and sighs as though he’s disappointed with him. “My marriage with your mother was arranged and you will have it too.”

“I don’t want it!” Dean stomps his foot, not caring that his nose is starting to sting with coming tears. “I don’t want to marry Lisa!” He wants to marry _Cas_.

“Do _not_ raise your voice to me, Dean.” Father says quietly as he stands slowly, towering over Dean. “This is not your decision to make.”

That sounds ridiculous and Dean is outraged by it. “How is who I _marry_ not _my_ decision?”

“This is _tradition_.” Father says lowly, but it’s Dean’s reaction that have Sam stopping and watching them.

“I don’t care.” He makes angry gestures with his hands. “I’m not having an arranged marriage. I _refuse_.”

“You _will_.”

“I _won’t_!” Dean turns on his heel and runs from him before Father can stop him.

There are guards at the door and Dean avoids them by ducking out through the servant’s entrance behind the curtains. A servant is standing there and she gasps in surprise as Dean darts around her. He runs as quickly as his feet will carry him, leaving the hidden corridors for a room he knows no one will be able to get into once he is in there. The eyes of several servants are on him and Dean doesn’t care.

The room he hides in is nothing more than a spare bedroom. It has no servant’s entrance of its own and the lock of the door is governed by the castle’s master key. Dean has a copy of it and he uses it to lock the door from the inside. He jams the key into the lock, leaving it twisted in the locked position and effectively meaning that no one will be able to open it with another copy.

As he starts pacing the room, tears burning his eyes, Dean tries to count all the things that are upsetting him right now. Most obviously, he knows that he is upset at being told that he has no control over his own life. Secondly, he doesn’t love Lisa. Not in the way that he would want to marry her. Dean wants to marry _Cas_ – and then the realization hits him.

 _He loves Cas_.

Dean sits on the edge of the bed and covers his face with his hands, sniffling into them and trying to get himself to just _breathe_. It is not truly that much of a surprise, but Dean hadn’t actually _thought_ of this before. He knew what it meant to be married and now that he’s thought of marrying Cas, he knows that being with anyone else would never make him as happy as being with Cas would.

There are voices at the door and someone is banging on it, but Dean ignores them all. They won’t be able to get in without taking the door off its hinges. By then he might have calmed down, but right now he wants nothing more than to be left alone. But the banging is so loud and annoying that Dean can’t be alone with his thoughts. He tries pacing the room, hoping that will do something to calm him. And it does , for a while, until the knocking stops and whoever is shouting at him goes quiet. It was likely his father  and Dean wants nothing to do with him right now.

He continues pacing until someone knocks again. By then, Dean is rather fed up and he kicks the door in passing. “ _Go away!_ ” Maybe Father will back off soon and just leave him alone.

The knocking happens again and Dean nearly misses the soft voice through the door. “Prince Dean, it’s me.” It feels like his knees go weak when he recognizes Cas’s voice. “May I please come in?”

Dean goes to the door and rests his palm against it. He wants to see Cas, but what if Father is just using him to get the door open? “Only you. Okay?”

“Of course.” Cas sounds sincere and Dean believes him. When the door opens just a crack, Dean hears Cas speaking to someone else. “Please let me talk to him in private. I promise he will come out of the room when I am done.”

As soon as Cas is inside the room, Dean shuts the door and locks it again. He doesn’t want anyone else to try and sneak in. Dean turns to Cas and he looks so surprised and worried that something twists in his chest. _This_ is the person Dean wants marry and spend the rest of his life with. And now he’s not allowed that. Does that mean he can’t love Cas? Can he never tell Cas how he feels for him, or find out if Cas shares his feelings?

No. _No_. Dean throws himself against Cas and wraps his arms around his waist, a small sob getting muffled into the shirt over his stomach. Cas hesitates for a minute before he crouches and picks Dean up. He transfers his hold to around Cas’s shoulders, sniffling into the collar of his shirt until Cas puts him down on the edge of the room’s bed. Dean refuses to let go of Cas’s shirt. If he lets go, Cas is going to pull away from him and right now Dean just wants him close enough to be of comfort.

Carefully, Cas does get him to let go but immediately sits next to him. He’s a comforting presence at Dean’s side and he forces himself to try and calm down. His fingers are twisted in his tunic and he stares at the floor, trying to think of how to explain to Cas what happened or if he even wants to know.

After a few minutes, Cas asks what he didn’t know how to start. “What’s wrong, Dean? What happened?

Dean sniffs and wipes under his nose with his sleeves. “Father told me about Lisa.”

“Did something happen to her?”

“ _No_.” He crosses his arms over his chest and frowns at the floor. “She’s – _Father_ told me all about _me_ and Lisa.”

Cas’s concern gives way to confusion. “What did the King tell you?”

Anger burns hot through Dean’s chest and he looks up at Cas unhappily. “He said I have to _marry_ her! He’s known about this for _years_ and he kept it from me!” Dean has never felt more betrayed and hurt by his own blood than he does today.

The way he stares at Dean makes him think that this is maybe not as big a problem for Cas is it is for him. Dean feels something inside his chest start to pull tight, as though it’s getting stretched past its breaking point when he sees the corner of Cas’s mouth twitch. He’s about to say something about it, or have more tears spill over, Dean isn’t entirely sure but it doesn’t matter when Cas carefully takes his face in one hand and uses the sleeve of his shirt to wipe the tears away gently.

“I take it that you don’t wish to marry Lisa?” Cas asks softly and no matter how much Dean wants to lean into Cas’s hand for comfort, he can only frown at him unhappily. As soon as he does that, Cas sighs and pushes the loose hairs from Dean’s forehead. “She’s a fine young lady, Dean, and she’s going to grow up into a lovely young woman. You could ask for no one better to be your future queen.” When Cas’s hands drop away, Dean feels the loss of the touch too keenly for his liking. “And to my understanding, you won’t be marrying her until you come of age.”

It occurs to Dean then that Cas’s knowledge it certain Lowlander customs might be lacking. “You _do_ know when that is, don’t you?”

“Fifteen.”

The look Cas gives him clearly states that he is nearly insulted by the question and Dean can’t help laughing at it. His laugh is dry and it feels as though it was pulled from him with one hard tug. It leaves him feeling cold and hard inside and he lets his gaze wander from Cas’s face before he can see how terrible Dean is starting to feel.

“I don’t want to get married that young. I don’t even _feel_ like an adult yet.” He can’t exactly tell Cas one of the main reasons why he doesn’t want to marry Lisa, but he _can_ tell him this. Dean still has so much growing to do and he looks up at Cas slowly, letting his other fears wash over his disappointment that he might never get to marry Cas like he wants to. “How am I supposed to get married and have kids when there are still so many things I’m learning for myself?”

Cas’s hand lands on his shoulder and Dean wants to let it tilt him to lean into Cas’s side. “That’s _four years_ away, Dean. Look how much you have grown in just the _three_ that I’ve been here. There is still plenty of time for you to learn and grow.”

Fine. That sort of helps _some_ of Dean’s fears. But there are are still other upsets and worries he has. “ I don’t want to do it. I like having Lisa as a _friend_.”

After a moment, Cas sighs and stands up – and in that second, Dean has the panicked thought that Cas is tired of his whining and he’s standing up to leave him. But Cas just smooths his hands over his clothing and looks back to him. “Do you want me to talk to the King about it?”

That helps to relax Dean and as much as he wishes he could say ‘yes’, he knows it would do no good. If Father would refuse his own _son_ , then there is very little hope that Cas could do it. For now, he is nothing more than a servant and a protector. He has far less sway with Father than Dean does. But he still thinks about it, and he still wishes that something could be done. In his heart, he knows that it isn’t possible and the defeat sits heavy on his shoulders.

After a while, he reaches out to try and pull Cas back down next to him. Thankfully, sits without issue. Dean sighs and absently watches his heels bouncing against the edge of the bed. “He won’t change his mind. I mean – just look at how long he’s been hiding it from me already.”

Cas doesn’t say anything, but Dean can hear how he agrees in the silence. Knowing that there’s nothing that Cas can do – and he always thought that Cas could do _anything_ – is not helping him feel any better. With a loud, sad sigh, Dean slumps against Cas’s side. It doesn’t feel fun to be beaten like this and by his own family no less.

He can feel Cas go still, like he’s holding his breath and unsure about what he’s supposed to do. Wondering about that is enough to distract Dean slightly from his disappointed and sad thoughts. It doesn’t take more than a moment to realize that they have never sat like this before – at least not unless Cas had just saved him and Sam from another attack and he needs to calm them down until Father or the healers arrive to make sure that they’re okay.

Does Cas not realize what Dean wants him to do right now? He needs – he _wants_ – the same kind of comfort now? With a sigh, Dean lifts Cas’s hand from his lap and guides his arm to fold around his shoulders. That feels immensely better and Dean closes his eyes, forcing himself to relax as Cas gives him a small squeeze. Forcing himself becomes unnecessary soon enough and Dean feels himself calming down naturally, even though his nose still feels drippy and he continues to sniffle a little.

A smile feels almost impossible right now and he knows why. No matter how much he relaxes or calms down, he is still unhappy with today’s revelation. “I don’t want to do it.”

Dean isn’t sure that Cas even hears his whisper until he squeezes him again. “I know. But if it is any consolation to you, I will be at your side for all of it.

So, that means that Cas will still be here four years from now? Does that mean he’s _staying_? Cas isn’t going to leave him. Even if they can’t get married now, Cas is staying. That makes Dean feel warm straight down to his soul and he lifts his head to give Cas a small smile he thought he would not be able to achieve today.

“I know, Cas.” It delights him that Cas smiles back in return and Dean wishes he could preserve this one moment for eternity. Just have it be the two of them together forever.


	17. Timestamp: To Love (Part 2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I will tell him, but only when the time is right.” He covers Lisa’s arm with his hand and looks to her, his smile a little less forced this time. “I’ll tell him when I feel like I’ve become the person that he deserves.”
> 
> Lisa’s smile turns sad and she waits until they’re halfway back across the courtyard before she whispers softly in his ear. “One day you’ll learn that you always have been.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Very much unedited. Hopefully my schedule will be opening up more this week to give me the time to edit both the last chapter and this one.**

Nothing is worse than when Sam falls asleep for a nap. Dean gets extremely bored whenever that happens and it has happened yet again, leaving Dean to glower at him from his own chair. Even the book in his hands is nothing neawr enough to keep Dean entertained. At least while Sam was awake, they could talk quietly one another about the books they were reading. Dean would make a comment about how no one could possibly grow hair as long as the princess in the tower and Sam would point out that someone could if their hair was magical like hers.

That discussion had gone on long enough that they finished with the mutual agreement that if either of them ever had magical hair that grew very fast, neither of them would let it get so long that it could be used as a rope to climb into a tower. Also, Dean is fairly certain that Cas would never allow either of them to grow their hair that long. He is already quietly opposed to the length they have it now, though Dean is not quite sure exactly _why_.

Speaking of Cas , he’s been in his bedroom for a very long time. Did he fall asleep too? What could he possibly have to do in that tiny closet of a room for so long? The room does not match Cas’s importance in any way, shape, or form and Dean would give him a room fit for a king if he could. Thus far Father has done nothing but refuse him in that regard, much to Dean’s unhappiness.

It occurs to Dean, the more that he thinks about it, that he has never been in Cas’s room for more than a few seconds before. There has never been any need for him to spend any amount of time in there and that feels oddly wrong to him. With that and his growing urge to see Cas after having him gone from the room for so long, Dean’s decision about what to do now that Sam has fallen asleep is made quickly.

A short while later finds him sitting on Cas’s bed feeling ridiculously giddy for getting to do something he has never done before, learning new things about Cas and why he cuts his hair. But this is Cas’s _bed_ and being here is making something in his belly twist in delight.  Dean doesn’t even mind that he is doing little more than watching as Cas puts the finishing touches to cutting his hair – and with a _dagger_ no less. That alone should be interesting enough, but Dean is almost completely enthralled by the way the tattooed lines on Cas’s back move when he does.

“Does it look satisfactory?” Cas asks when he finally puts the dagger down.

Dean looks up to meet his eyes and he looks his hair over briefly. “It’s fine.” He looks back to Cas’s tattoos and the scars covering them. It strikes him then that he can’t recall the story behind those scars and quite suddenly there is a burning desire to _know_ – just as he knows the origin of the rest of Cas’s scars. “You never told me where you get the ones on your back.”

Frowning in confusion, Cas twists around to look at his back in the mirror. “My tattoos? I’ve told you many times how and why I got my wings.”

“No, the _scars_. They’re on top of your tattoos.” He stands and adjusts his tunic before approaching Cas. It’s almost unbelievable to him that he doesn’t know every single one of Cas’s scars.

Cas turns back to the mirror to fiddle with the things on the table under it, but Dean is well aware that he’s watching him in the reflections. A part of Dean wants nothing more than to reach out and touch the pale lines crisscrossing over the dark streaks of Cas’s tattoo, but he stops himself before he can ever touch his skin. That feels too _inappropriate_ a thing to do when they stand alone in Cas’s bedroom.

“I remember every scar that you ever got fro mprotecting me and Sam, and I don’t remember these.” Dean is twelve years old now and they have been together nearly four years. He’s _certain_ that he doesn’t know these and he has difficulty recalling if Cas had them before he came to live here or not.

As Cas reaches for his shirt, Dean watches his face in the mirror. This is not the first time that Cas’s face has gone blank. It’s the kind of look that means he’s hiding something. Cas is hiding something from _him_ and that is intolerable. He _needs_ to know now and Dean puts a hand over Cas’s wrist to keep him from putting the shirt on.

“I want to know, Cas.” With his best begging eyes, Dean almost pouts. “Tell me?”

When Cas looks away, Dean knows that he’s won. Cas’s voice is small and tight when he answers. “I received them as punishment.”

That is _not_ the answer Dean was expecting or even wanted to hear. His grip goes tip without thinking and a wave of anger surges through him. “ _Why_ were you punished? Who did it? Who _ordered_ it?” Did it happen here? Who in their right mind would hurt Cas _here_? He is the best servant in this silly castle.

“The King.” Cas’s answers is soft and quiet and it feels like it’s loud enough to shatter Dean’s world. He can hardly move and Cas tries to pry Dean’s hand from his wrist. “It doesn’t matter who did it. It was so long ago and they were olding doing their job.”

His _father_ ordered this? But who was the one who did it? There are too many questions and Dean knows there are some that Cas won’t answer. He also knows that there are some he will. “But _why_ were you punished?” He tightens his grip, certain that he has never been more angry in his life than he is now. “I want to know _why_ , Cas!”

With a soft sigh, Cas looks down at his hands. “Do you remember the evening when I –” He pauses and takes a deep breath before looking up slowly. “It was not long after I came here. Perhaps nothing more than a few moons and it was well before you and I ever got along.”

 _Oh_. Dean is pretty sure he knows exactly what Cas is referring to even as continues speaking. “I was angyr all the time and my patience had reached its limit with you.” It almost looks like saying this is actually hurting him. “That night, I was intent on taking you outside to find a switch to punish you with. You were crying, and –”

No, he doesn’t want to hear anymore. “I remember that. I didn’t know what you were going to do and I was scared. We’ve had so many good times since then that I kind of – I just forgot about it.”

Shrugging, Cas tugs at his wrist lightly and he won’t meet Dean’s eyes again. “In either case, these scars are deserved. Most of the time, I’ve all but forgotten them.”

That’s not true _at all_ and Dean’s anger crashes through him again. “But you _didn’t_ deserve it! Not to the extent that you should have _scars_. You only scared me a little bit!”

Cas looks up sharply, frowning. “Dean, I was going to tank your backside with a switch. I let my anger get the better of me and I disregarded all notions of how to raise a child.”

How is that fair? “But you didn’t hurt me.” Dean insists quietly, pulling at Cas’s wrist to keep him from drawing away from him. “You didn’t deserve to be _whipped_ for that! That’s what they did, isn’t it? You were whipped?” He’s seen the results before and that is what makes the most sense to him.

Dean expects Cas to be upset about this too, but he’s _not_. He’s not even upset that Dean is getting upset. If anything, Cas is _smiling_ – though it is a small, barely there smile. He reaches up to push the hair out of Dean’s eyes. The touch makes Dean’s heart stop. “There is no need for you to be upset now, Dean. The past is in the past and nothing can be said or done to change it.”

“But I –” How can he form words when Cas not only just touched his hair, but he did it so fondly? He can hardly _think_ let alone speak.

Immediately, Cas sobers up and his hands drops. “I was out of line and I deserved my punishment for it. I learned my lesson and I have made sure never to make the same mistake again.”

He takes a deep breath to steady himself and reaches out to carefully, gently touch some scars on Cas’s arm. How could Cas think that he should be _punished_ for dealing with him? The more that Dean touches the scars, the more he realizes that he hates them. These are reminders that Cas was hurt – no matter what he was doing to keep Dean and Sam safe.

That’s it. Dean is making a new rule right now – no matter whether or not Cas always refuses all his other spur of the moment rules. “You’re not allowed to get hurt anymore. I don’t want you to get any more scars, Cas.”

Immediately, Cas takes a deep breath and holds it for a moment before he answers. “That’s a promise I  can’t keep, Dean. You know that.”

No, that is unacceptable. Dean clenches his jaw and squeezes the scars. The last thing he ever wants is to see Cas get hurt again. “You belong to _me_ , Cas, and I don’t want you getting hurt anymore.”

Cas sighs so softly that Dean barely hears it. He allows Cas to pull away from him, but Dean’s chest feels like it’s squeezing too tight. His heart hurts at the way Cas smiles at him softly. It’s the kind of smile that Dean has seen adults give children – give _him_ – all the time when they’re going to tell him bad news. 

“I belong to no one, Dean. I came here for my people and I stay here for them.” His smile softens more as Dean feels like his heart his breaking and he tries so hard to stop it from showing. Cas puts his hands on Dean’s shoulders and crouchese to his level. “And I stay for the for friendships that I have made. But you know that as your protector, _and_ as your friend, I will always put myself between you and anyone who intends to harm you – regardless of the danger to myself.”

The heat that floods Dean’s face then is so intense that he can do nothing but look down at the floor. His hands curl into fists at his side, trembling purely without knowing what to do with them. It feels as though he’s being torn in half. Part of him is very happy that Cas considers him a friend and would do anything for him like that. The other part of him is horrified that Cas might end up getting hurt again. He doesn’t want that to happen – not now, not ever again.

When Cas turns away to pull his shirt on again, another spur of the moment idea blossoms in Dean’s mind. There is nothing to think about when it means that it could keep Cas safer in the future. The rest of the plan builds quickly as Dean snatchs up the dagger from the table under the mirror and grabs the braid hanging over his shoulder. He pulls it back from his head tightly, putting the blade to where it begins at the base of his skull. With one sharp jerk, his head suddenly feels lighter and a weight goes with it, though there is still much to do before Cas will be completely safe.

Cas turns around to face him again, mouth open as though he were going to say something. He stops and stares as Dean drops the braid and holds the dagger out to him. “Now make it look like yours.” But Cas still doesn’t say anything and he doesn’t even move. He simply stares at him until Dean nearly grins. “You said long hair can be easily grabbed. If I have short hair like you, then no one is going to be able to grab it. This is just the first step towards being capable of protecting myself enough that you won’t get hurt anymore.”

Dean start undoing his belt, ready to take off his tunic. Cas didn’t wear his shirt while he was cutting his hair and Dean shouldn’t wear his tunic while Cas fixes his. He pulls his tunic over his head and folds it carefully just the way that Cas taught him to. It feels a little exhilarating that Cas is still only staring at him while he looks up at him, determined that _this_ is the right choice.

“And I want you to start training me more in how Aladaï fight. I want to be as deadly as you are.” He puts the tunic aside and hopes against all hope that Cas won’t defy him on this. If he could take even just some of the weight of having to defend both him and Sam from Cas’s shoulders, then Dean would be happier knowing that Cas refuses to stop defending him.

“I mean it, Cas.” Dean straights his shoulders and lifts his chin again at the small smile slowly pulling across Cas’s lips. “I don’t want you getting hurt anymore on my account.”

Not now and not ever again. Not if he can help it. Cas means too much to him for Dean to ever allow that to happen.

*

Just a few more moons and it will be winter again and then Dean can _finally_ be finished with Cas’s training for the year. Though that is not exactly the whole truth. When the winter resigns them to the indoors, Cas continues to teach them sword play and the hand to hand combat that does not require rolling around on the ground grappling. Cas spends every summer focusing on that and in recent years, that has proven to be – well, _troublesome_ for Dean.

It feels like it’s been ages now that he has been working at hiding his erections and the nightly emissions that have been plaguing him. He’s half a year away from being fourteen and already Dean is sick of growing into a man. Dean doesn’t want to advertise to anyone – let alone to Cas – that he has little to no control over his body. But at the same time, he doesn’t want to have to force himself to think of all manner of unappealing things to keep himself from becoming aroused at the most inopportune times.

Coincidentally, each and every one of those moments occurs in Cas’s presence. It is hard enough not to be aroused when Cas is talking to him or standing close to him or simply _existing_. It is downright _impossible_ when Cas helps him and Sam with their baths, or even touches him at all regardless of how much clothing Dean is wearing. When Cas’s hand is on his arm or his shoulder or anywhere remotely close to him, it makes Dean feel like his insides are on fire.

Dean doesn’t care that there is hair growing in places he never had it before. He doesn’t care that he’s growing quickly and many of his favourite outfits no longer it. It doesn’t even matter to him that Cas makes him wash under his arms more than a few times throughout the day because when he sweats, it is not the most pleasant of aromas (something that Dean agrees with). All these changes are acceptable. Being aroused by Cas doing literally almost _anything_ is not.

God help him, Dean is certain that he is going to be going to hell for how much he’s been masturbating in the bath. Which are the entire basis for why he insisted to take his baths on his own. He hated having to leave Sam to bathing on his own, and he despises not having Cas with him even more than he disliked having to do things on his own. But if he didn’t start bathing on his own, Dean would run the serious risk of getting an erection when Cas does anything in his general vicinity and that might cause unnecessary unpset in their relationship.

At least he doesn’t have to be subtle about what he does behind the clothed bathing door. Cas already caught him once. But then Cas had gone and told him that it was alright for Dean to touch himself and that all boys his age do it. Cas even pointed out that _he_ – No. If Dean thinks about that conversation and reminds himself about how Cas is ‘ _subject to the same desires_ ’ as everyone else. Which means that _Cas touches himself too_ and –

Damn. Dean wasn’t supposed to think about that. Now it’s all that he can think of – which feels rather rude, considering that he is in the middle of flirting with a few rather attractive servants. None of them are anywhere near as beautiful as Cas is, but Dean had hoped that speaking to them would work at distracting himself from thinking about a certain Aladaï individual. Unsurprisingly, this isn’t working. Which might be why Dean is so irritable when Cas calls him back to the training field.

“Why can’t we be _done_ for today, Cas?” He grumbles, taking the baton unhappily. “We’ve been at this all _day_.” And he’s been having to imagine Matron running about in her underclothes to stop himself from getting excited just by the fluid way Cas moves while they spar.

“How else do you expect to become skilled at the sword if you don’t _practice_?” Cas sighs and steps into a prepared stance which sends a bolt of heat down Dean’s spine as Cas’s shirt sticks to him in tantalizing ways with his sweat.

Grumbling under his brerath, Dean matches Cas’s position. The sooner he can get this over with, the sooner he can go back inside and use books and studying or spending time with Sam as a way to distract himself from these neverending thoughts of _Cas_. Without saying a word, he darts forward in a strike. Annoyance flares through him when Cas easily deflects it and taps him on the shoulder with his own baton, once again beating him effortlessly.

“Don’t _lunge_ like that.” That’s Cas’s scolding tone and Dean _hates_ it. He hasn’t been scolded during sparring in years. “Wait for your opponent to come to you.”

That sounds ridiculous. “But if we _both_ wait, no one will ever move!”

Cas shakes his head and sighs loud enough for it to get on Dean’s nerves. “Then you’re not understanding what I’m trying to teach you. Patience is key and that is something that you _lack_. Why else would you not wait where I told you to and instead went to go talk to those servants?”

Of course Cas is going to complain about that. He does it every single time. Dean rolls his eyes and gestures for Cas to attack him. “They come and watch us every day. There’s no harm in saying ‘ _hi_ ’ and I was only flirting with them a little.” Something spiteful and curious burns in his chest and Dean tries not to let it show in his face. “You _do_ know what that is, don’t you?”

For a long moment, Cas is still and he stares at Dean before he straightens his shoulders. “You shouldn’t be flirting with servants, my Lord.” He throws a glare toward the fence and relaxes slightly, which spikes Dean’s curiosity all the more. “Not only is it cruel to entertain their hopes that they might one day have a chance with the crown prince, but you are also fit to be married to Lady Lisa in a few years.”

Again with the formalities. They’re alone now and Dean despises it Cas uses titles. He points the baton at him, frowning hard enough that it almost hurts. “Stop with the formalities, Cas. It’s just us here.” And now is the perfect time for him to strike again, though Cas parries easily. “And what does it matter anyways? Just because they’re servants doesn’t change that I find them attractive.” It definitely doesn’t change that he finds _Cas_ attractive. “I’m only _flirting_ – not inviting them back to my bed.” He could never do that unless the person coming back to his bed was Cas.

Something unknown twists across Cas’s face quickly and he blocks another strike. “They are _servants_ , Dean, and you are the _crown prince_.” He slips forward before Dean can do anything and the baton stops just shy of his stomach. Before Dean can say a thing, Cas steps back into a neutral position. “Royalty does not mesh with the peasantry, Dean. You know this. You’ve been taught it since birth.”

Cas is building himself up for a full on lecture of the ridiculousness of Lowlander rules. Dean can see one of these coming from the over the horizon as if he were spotting storm clouds. If Dean lets him do that, it will never end.

He slashes angrily with his baton. “Like you said; I’m marrying Lisa in a _few years_. I can still have all my fun before that!” Though he has no plans for anything like that ever happening. There’s only one person he wants and he is fairly certain he will never be able to have.

With another sigh, Cas rubs a hand over his face and pushes it back into his hair. “Then you should flirt with the nobility or, at the very least, the gentry.” His lips draw into a tight line and the way he holds himself is starting to look as though he were carved from stone. “And you shouldn’t flirt with boys.”

A cold sweat breaks out down Dean’s spine and it makes him go tense all over. What is that supposed to mean? Cas has always been so disapproving of everything that the Church teaches that Dean had always assumed that meant Cas has no cares regarding homosexuality. Is this his answer? Does he frown on it like everyone else? Does that mean he would never accept Dean or his feelings?

Panic is starting to swell in Dean’s chest and he squares his shoulders, ready to ask a question that terrifies him. “Why not?”

“Because your _Church_ frowns upon it.” Cas hisses each word with an uncharacteristic venom.

That hardly does anything to calm Dean’s worries. He turns away with a sigh and starts pacing while he thinks through the previous questions, trying to find one that he can ask without being insulting or giving any indication to any alternate reasons for _why_ he’s asking it.

One comes to mind and Dean stops to point the baton at Cas. “What do the Aladaï think of it?”

In a flurry of movement, Cas is in his personal space and knocking Dean’s baton aside. The end of his own catches under Dean’s chin, lifting it slightly. It’s a terrifying, exhilarating thrill to be reminded of just how deadly Cas is that Dean almost misses what he says. “Never point your weapon at an opponent unless you plan to use it, Dean.”

Cas steps back and Dean drops his arm, letting out a shaky breath that he almost chokes on when Cas’s baton is up again, the air whistling next to his ear. “And never lower your weapon in battle. Your opponent will not always be as gracious.”

Dean’s voice scrapes through his throat, coming out as little more than a growl when he slaps Cas’s baton away. He doesn’t want a lesson. He wants to know if Cas and his people approve or disapprove of the feelings that Dean has no intention of every saying out loud to anyone aside from Sam and Lisa. “Answer the question, Cas.”

Sighing, Cas steps back into the ready position again. He says nothing, though his whole demeanor shows that he’s _waiting_. As soon as Dean copies his position, Cas answers. “Aladaï don’t care.” He continues speaking even after Dean starts a familiar sparring pattern for them. “There are many things each person finds individually attractive, but strength is a key requirement for our partners – both in mind, body, and spirit. And it does not matter if they are man or woman. Not everyone has the same preferences, but we do not question them.”

“But why don’t you care?” As he gains ground with the baton, Dean also gains ground with his questions. He’s building up for the one that has the most weight hanging in the balance.

“Because our core philosophy is that a person can do anything they please in their personal life as long as it does not bring harm to others.” Cas answers simply, once again confirming for Dean that the Aladaï are a far better people than the Lowlanders have credited them to be.

This is his moment. Dean steps back and puts his hand out to show Cas that he wants to stop sparring. Immediately, Cas relaxes and he stands normally. Now Dean needs to word his next question very carefully. He tilts his head and regards Cas carefully, pulling up everything that he knows about Cas to make this the perfect question.

“Does that mean that you’ve been with a man before, Cas?”

The surprise flares across Cas’s face and within seconds, his cheek starts getting lightly flushed. Dean can’t tell if this is a good reaction or not. All Cas is doing is staring at him while Dean waits. He’s not sure what he’s expecting to hear – a yes, a no, or something as worse as Cas saying he would never even consider it. If it’s a yes, Dean thinks his heart might break and he would want to hunt down whoever it was Cas who got to be with Cas. If it’s a no, that might very well feel the same as if Cas said he isn’t interested in men.

There is no right answer, is there? None of them will make Dean feel good and he regrets ever asking the question now. He regrets it all the more when Cas slides one of his feet back and raises the baton into a ready stance again. Frustration fills Dean again, mixed with a relief that frustrates him all the more. Dean wants his answer but he doesn’t know what answer he wants and Cas apparently is going to give him _nothing_ on this front.

With a calming sigh, Cas gestures for Dean to attack him again. “I will answer that question when you are able to best me with the sword.”

Oh? _Fine_. Dean can do that. He’s already fairly good with the baton and with just a little more training, Cas will finally allow him to use a proper sword. This answer is important to him. It will colour how Dean moves forward with his feelings for Cas and whether or not they’re anything he should follow them as Lisa says he should or forget them like Sam told him he should.

If Cas wants him to work for this answer, then Dean will make his hands _bleed_ until he gets this answer.

*

“Dean!” Lisa has his skirts up around her knees again as she runs down the stairs of the keep. She pauses long enough to curtsy to Sam and Cas in greeting too as they’re dismounting from their horses. Before anyone can respond, she crosses to Dean’s horse and hooks her arm through his. “I need you to come with me.”

She doesn’t wait for an answer and starts pulling him away across the courtyard. Dean glances back to make sure that Cas is alright with this, but he isn’t even looking. Cas is almost completely absorbed with helping Sam down from the horse they rode together. Now that Dean is fourteen years old, Cas says he’s big enough to ride on his own horse while Sam still gets to ride with him. Every time Dean has to climb up onto a horse all by himself, Sam gives him all sorts of apologetic looks. He knows exactly how Dean feels for Cas and there is nothing either of them can do to change Cas’s mind about it.

Usually for a picnic, they wouldn’t even have to get off the horse. Lisa would have been waiting for them on one of her own and they would be leaving. But today, the weather has been threatening rain for the entire ride from the main city. Which is why their picnic is going to be held inside the manor today. Honestly, Dean had not been expecting Lisa to meet them at the front steps much less drag him across the courtyard next to the stables

Dean sighs and steps away from her. “What is this about, Lisa?” He narrows his eyes at her. “What did you do? What do _I_ do?”

Lisa smoothes out her skirts and looks around suspiciously before leaning in towards him. “I want to talk about our wedding.”

His stomach clenches at the word. Dean dreads it more and more with each passing day. “Are we able to get out of it yet?”

“I’ve tried.” She sighs and her shoulders slump unhappily. “Father refuses.”

“As does mine.” He crosses his arms, trying not to look like he’s pouting.

After a moment of silence, Lisa clears her throat but lowers her voice into a whisper. “And you still love Cas, right?” At Dean’s flat look, she rolls her eyes and crosses her arms too. “Well, I love Marshall.” When Dean continues to stare at her blankly, a bright blush fills her cheeks. “He’s the son of a friend of my father. And he was – he was my first kiss.”

Well, that makes things easier. If Lisa was in love with him, that would make being in love with Cas a lot harder than it already is. But it didn’t make him feel any better about the wedding. “I guess that means you’ll be having an affair.” He falls silent after that and looks to his feet.

“He loves you too, Dean.” Lisa says softly, putting a hand on his shoulder. “You know Cas does.”

Dean shakes his head and looks up at her. “But I’m still just a _child_ to him.” He looks back to where Cas is unloading things from the saddlebags. “Cas is ten years my senior. He deserves a proper _adult_.” When Lisa tries to interrupt, he shakes his head. “It’s fine.Besides, I can’t even think about saying anything to him until we have confirmation of an heir anyways.”

That makes Lisa pull an unhappy frown while she turns away. “Do we have to talk about that too?”

 If it were at all possible, he sincerely wishes that they didn’t. “You know we do.”

“Well –” Lisa sighs loudly and turns to him, with her hands on her hips. “You’re lucky you’re pretty and I liked you when we were younger.” That’s news to him and Lisa laughs. “That will make it so much easier to have sex with you.”

Being reminded of that makes Dean wince again. There were very brief instructions about what he would have to do the first time he has sex, but it is not something he is looking forward to. Having sex with Lisa is an obligation. It may end up being physically pleasurable, but that is where anything good about it ends. Especially with what he has to remind Lisa of now.

“You can’t have sex with Marshall until I have an heir.” It feels wrong to say it and the words leave a bad taste in Dean’s mouth.

Apparently Lisa likes them just as much as he does. “When you’re King, promise me that you’re going to fix these laws. Arranged marriages are terrible.”

“I will most definitely try.” It is something that Dean has sworn he would do from the moment he found out what was expected of him and Lisa.

“Good.” She holds out her hand for Dean to shake. “And you have my word that Marshall and I will do nothing more than kiss on occasion until I bear you a child.” As they shake, Lisa covers Dean’s hand with other one. “In return, please promise me that you won’t keep running from your feelings forever.”

Dean frowns and pulls his hand away. He doesn’t care for the direction this conversation is turning. “I’ve never ran from them before.” In fact, it has been the exact opposite. Dean has done nothing but embrace his feelings for Cas, and he has fully accepted that they may never be returned – no matter what Lisa says or has convinced Sam to say too.

“You know what I mean, Dean.” Lisa sighs and slings her arm through his again, reaching up to nudge him under the chin with her knuckles. “You need to _tell him_.”

“I know.” He forces a smile and looks across the courtyard again.

The horses have been put away and Sam and Cas are waiting for him at the base of the main stairs. They’re talking animatedly to one another about something, but the topic is of little matter. Just watching Cas’s soft smile is making his heart beat erratically against his ribs. Cas only ever has that smile when he’s talking to Dean or Sam, and Dean is fairly certain that Cas has no knowledge that he even does it. The smile is just _there_ and it makes Dean feel so very warm inside.

“I will tell him, but only when the time is right.” He covers Lisa’s arm with his hand and looks to her, his smile a little less forced this time. “I’ll tell him when I feel like I’ve become the person that he deserves.”

Lisa’s smile turns sad and she waits until they’re halfway back across the courtyard before she whispers softly in his ear. “One day you’ll learn that you always have been.”

Dean hopes she’s right.

*

On the day of his wedding, Dean is well aware that Lisa is the one who should be holding his attention. He should be focused on her and thinking of how beautiful _she_ is in the flowing gown and veil specially made for this day out of fine silks. That is what Dean was told he needs to think on his wedding day, but throughout the entire ceremony and following reception, all he can think of is how nice Cas looks in his formal clothing. The opal around his neck is especially nice.

Dean has never been an afficianado of jewelry or fine stones, but even he can admit that the necklace is beautiful. It got even more amazing after Cas told him the story behind it and the meaning that it holds to his family. He can only assume that Cas will one day want to give that necklace to court someone as his father did his mother. When he learned about that, Dean had viciously wished – for one delirious moment – that Cas would give _him_ the necklace some day.

Wishing that only means that Dean spends half his wedding day thinking about how things would be if he were an Aladaï. Were that the case, Dean might not be afraid of admitting his feelings for Cas. If they both lived in the Aladaï lands, he could have confessed ages ago and maybe Cas would be his already – only waiting for Dean to come of age. That is a world that Dean has fantasized about so often that he knows that imaginary world almost as well as he knows the real one.

Getting caught up in his fantasies is a terrible way to spend his wedding day, but at least Lisa doesn’t seem to mind that his attention is mostly focused on Cas. In between greeting delegates and receiving well wishes from a never ending line of people Dean is certain he has never met before, he can barely pay any attention to them or Lisa. He’s worried about Cas and how stressful of a nightmare large parties like this are for him.

Any ambassador could be an assassin in disguise and Cas needs to be on his guard constantly. Dean even does his best to try and minimize all risks. He makes sure that Cas is within arm’s reach at all times and never allows anyone to drag him away from Cas’s side. It’s difficult, but Dean even does his best to be on his guard too – which turns out to be very difficult. Everyone looks the same to him and there are only so many slices he can care into his attention.

One large part of his focus needs to continue being centered on making conversation with anyone who walks up to him. Another, much smaller, part needs to give attention to his new wife. And then there is yet another even smaller slice of his focus that is devoted to being on guard for anyone suspicious. But the biggest part of his attention is on Cas.

How can he care about anything else when it looks like each and every one of Cas’s smile is so _forced_? Everything comes out as a grimace whenever someone addresses Cas but it can’t be too long before he stops smiling completely tonight. But what could have possibly caused Cas to be this upset?

It’s all Dean can think about while he leads Lisa to their first dance as husband and wife. Maybe Cas is unhappy because of what those thoughtless nobles said during the reception? What Dean said in response couldn’t have been enough to make Cas forget what was grossly insinuated about him – both as a person and as an Aladaï.

“Don’t look so nervous.” Lisa whispers as they come to a stop in the middle of the cleared floor. “We practiced this dance until our feet fell off. You’ll be fine.”

“That’s not what I’m worried about.” Dean mumbles before stepping into the first shivering note of music that fills the air.

She tilts her head as they match steps across the floor and a soft smile curls his lips. “Let me guess. You wish you were dancing with someone much more manlier, taller, and more tanned than myself?”

That brings a smile to Dean’s face and he laughs. “I enjoy dancing with you – especially since you learned to stop stepping on my feet.” But there is no denying that, if given the choice, he would choose to dance with Cas over dancing with Lisa no matter the occasion. Of course, Lisa would do the same if she were given the choice between Dean and Marshall.

Her laughter rings over the music and her next step purposefully land on his foot, a wicked gleam in her eye. Dean winces through his laugh and allows Lisa’s sharp wit and quick banter to distract him from his worries, at least for a few moments. As soon as the music stops and they return to where Cas is waiting for them, Dean’s worries come crashing back. There is no hint of a smile on Cas’s face as he takes his place at Dean’s elbow again, and Dean sees no sign of it for the rest of the night.

Even Lisa is concerned by the time Cas leads them to their new bedchambers when the party has come to it’s inevitable end. When her servants come to take her to the changing room, she leans in for a brief hug and whispers in Dean’s ear. “ _Talk_ to him.”

Once the door shuts behind her, Dean finds himself alone with Cas for what feels like the first time in ages – though it has been little more than half a day. All the worry Dean had building up all night clogs his throat and keeps him from asking the questions that he wants to. If he makes mention of it, what if Cas admits that he was unhappy because he is preparing to announce that he is ready to leave? Dean would rather suffer in silence as he changes clothing than risk that.

“Is there anything else I can assist you with?” Cas asks, his back to Dean while he folds his wedding clothing. “There is a bell pull next to your bed that you can use to summon me in the night if you have need of me.”

Once finished with pulling on his nightclothes, Dean touches Cas’s shoulder as he always has. “I’m fine for now, Cas.”

After taking a worringly deep breath, Cas turns around and forces his first smile in a while. It makes Dean frown, concern overtaking everything else. “Then I will take my leave. I’ll wake you both in the morning when your baths have been prepared.” He bows and Dean’s frown only deepens. When was the last time Cas actually _bowed_ to him when they were alone?

This is so wrong in so many ways and Dean moves without thinking. He grabs Cas’s arm and pulls him a step closer instead of allowing him to take a step away. “ _Cas_.” Dean squeezes his arm and tries to pour all his worry into his voice. “Are you alright?”

Cas carefully pries Dean’s hand from his arm and bows a _second_ time. In the same motion, he quickly steps out of reach. “Of course I am, my Lord. Please have a good night and give my regards to Lady Lisa.”

All Dean can do is frown as Cas leaves the room. Is Cas not even going to tuck him and Lisa in? Will he not be doing that anymore now that Dean is married? Dean feels oddly disappointed and all he can do is shrug when Lisa returns to the room. She looks just as disappointed and they crawl into the bed together, Dean on one side and Lisa on the other. They don’t even face one another and it becomes all the more clear that their marriage is nothing more than a forced, hollow sham.

It doesn’t take long for Dean to start missing having Sam sleeping one bed over. Of course, Sam is just on the other side of the little closet they call Cas’s bedroom. He is only one room away, but Dean misses him. And he misses Cas too. Today he had been so withdrawn and unhappy and now it’s all that Dean can think of. He wishes Cas would have stayed to talk. More than that, he wishes Cas was the one sleeping next to him right now. As much as he loves Lisa, she’s not _Cas_.

Dean falls asleep surrounded by his worry as though it were the blanket pulled up around his shoulders. He can hardly stop wondering about whether or not Cas is starting to pull away from him. The only question he has is _why_? He’s so caught up in his thoughts that Dean is unaware of when he actually falls asleep. The next thing that he knows, someone is shaking him awake.

That someone, as it turns out, is Cas. “My Lord, it is time for you to get ready for the day.” His voice gets distant, moving around to the other side of the bed. “The same can be said for you, my Lady. The baths will soon be ready.”

Groaning, Dean turns his face into the pillow and reaches for the blanket to pull it over his head. He doesn’t want to wake up. They were up so late last night with the festivities, and he was awake long after that with his thoughts. At least the fog that fills his head in the mornings is keeping those worries at bay right now and it stays until he has to walk to the baths with Sam and Cas. By then, Sam has brought his attention to Cas’s behaviour.

It feels as though the last seven years never happened. Cas walks behind them with their clothing in his arms, back straight and eyes forward. His expression is schooled into a blank stone, his body rigid in the way Dean has come to associate to times when Cas is uncomfortable. Cas is even ignoring the way that Dean and Sam are looking at him. Usually he always says something when either of them has any sort of concern about anything.

Something needs to be done. Unfortunately, that something means that Dean will have to _talk_ to Cas. All it takes is one look and Sam knows to take his bath on his own. He slips into his prepared bathing room and leaves Dean alone with Cas again.

Cas turns to him and bows again. “I will leave you both in the care of the soldiers, my Lord. I have to make your beds and I would like to ensure that your breakfasts are going to be properly –”

No. He’s not allowed to leave. Dean turns to the only thought he has. “You’re not going to help me with _my_ bath, Cas?” It might not be the smartest of things to do, but Dean has no other choice. They need to talk, even if that means having Cas in the same room while he’s bathing. If he focuses on his worries, he might be too distracted to be aroused by anything Cas does.

Slowly, Cas lifts his head to stare at him, finally showing some sense of emotion. In this case, it’s shock. “I – Your Highness, I haven’t helped you with that in _years_.”

“Well, I’ve changed my mind.” Dean forces himself to remain calm as he shrugs and turns away to go into his bathing chamber. “I want you to start helping me again.” That wasn’t what he meant to say, but it will work for the situation now. He can always change his mind again later if he needs to.

Worry flutters dangerously in Dean’s stomach when Cas doesn’t come into the bathing room. “You don’t need my help.”

“But I _want_ it.” He turns around and crosses his arms, trying hard to look serious and not nervous or worried about anything and everything concerning Cas at the moment. “Now come in here and help me like you’re supposed to.”

When Cas says nothing and only continues staring at him, Dean takes a deep breath and starts to undress. As he  starts pulling his nightshirt up, Cas turns away sharply. He shuffles around the room, dipping a hand into the water and fussing with the towels and items kept on the shelves and tables around the room. It’s rather interesting to watch. Cas is rarely this fidgety.

This will be the first time in a few years that Dean will be naked in the same room as Cas. Perhaps this is a good thing. His body has changed. He’s grown quite a bit since he started bathing on his own. Maybe he isn’t quite the man that he thinks Cas would want – if he does like men – but Cas should see that now. If Dea nis ever going to confess how he feels, Cas needs to see him as an adult and the child he used to be.

His plan would be more effective if Cas would turn around. “Your Highness, the water is going to get cold if you don’t use it soon.”

All of this is far more frustrating that Dean likes things to be. They need to talk and he needs to know that Cas isn’t going to leave. He needs to know why Cas has been so weird since yesterday – and even more so this morning.

“Look at me, Cas.” Dean grinds out the words with every ounce of command that he has, even if he can feel a flush burning under his skin – more embarrassed than anything else at the moment.

With a sigh, Cas turns around to face him. His jaw is set as stubbornly as Dean feels, but that emotionless mask has slipped over his features again. That worries Dean all the more. “Are you doing alright, Cas?”

“Yes, my Lord. I’m fine.”

The titles again. They’re _alone_. Why is he being like this? And why is he _lying_? He’s clearly _not_ alright. “Why are you being all _formal_ again?” Dean narrows his eyes. “Stop it and tell me the _truth_.”

“I’m fine, Dean.” Cas sighs and looks away again.

He only ever looks away when he’s starting to crack. With just a little more pushing, Dean might be able to get an proper answer out of him. “You didn’t seem like you were _fine_ yesterday.”

Cas stiffens slightly and he turns back to the towels, only making Dean’s worry inflate drastically. “You didn’t look much better either, Dean. It was a stressful and emotional day for everyone.”

Maybe – maybe Cas isn’t planning on leaving. He would have told Dean by now, or at least told Father and _he_ would have said something. There’s something else wrong here and he has to do with the wedding. Which means it has something to do with Lisa. Oh! A new idea forms quickly in Dean’s head and it makes him feel no better than before.

Once he pulls Cas around to face him again, his own nakedness forgotten, Dean squeezes his elbow. “You know that I’m always going to need you. Right, Cas?”

It’s possible that Cas has been worried that he might be replaced or that now that Dean is married to Lisa, he won’t need him around as much anymore. It’s a possibility, but Dean doesn’t know what he did to make Cas think that. But there is one thing that he does know; he loves Cas and he wants him to be happy – and if entirely possible, he wants Cas happy _here_ and preferably with him.

Again, Cas looks as though he’s been caught off guard. For a moment, he’s silent. Cas breaks it with a deep breath and a soft smile. “Of course you will, Dean.” He puts his hands on Dean’s shoulders to guide him toward the bathtub and hands him a bowl of soap once he’s seated in the warm waters. “I doubt that you paid proper attention to any of my lessons. How else would you ever survive without me?”

The tone is light and teasing. Whatever dark cloud that has been following Cas around since yesterday appears to have dissipated for now. Regardless, Dean can’t help smiling brightly at him, pleased with just this small amount of progress. Even more so, he is delighted that Cas makes no mention of any plans to leave or spend less time with him. It lightens the mood so considerably that Dean can’t help wanting to tease Cas in return.

With practiced ease, Dean slides down in the tub with an exaggerated yawn and drapes his arms along its edge. “I’m so _tired_ , Cas.” He hangs his head back and grins at him. “Yesterday was just so _busy_. I think you should wash my hair for me.”

If Cas accepts, they would be encroaching on a territory where Dean will likely not be able to control his body’s reactions. He can only hope that Cas isn’t taking his teasing (though slightly hopeful) request seriously. That could be disastrous and ruin this budding good mood for them both.

Cas doesn’t disappoint. He drops a small cloth over Dean’s face, making him sit up sharply with a laugh. “You’re an adult, Dean. You can do it for yourself.”

 _An adult_. Does Cas truly see Dean as an adult? Is it because he is married now or has Cas been thinking that since Dean’s fifteenth birthday? Either way, just that one word makes Dean feel happier than he has in days. Maybe – _maybe_ that means things are changing. If they are, then Dean can only hope that it is for the better.

*

Dean has worked long hours and put in literal _years_ of work for one particular moment. He has burned his skin in the sun and blistered his palms with the wrapped grip of his baton for this day. In learning both Aladaï and Lowlander styles of sword fighting, Dean has painstakingly pieced them together into his own unique style with one sole purpose in mind; to defeat Cas.

Beating Cas with the training baton is the one obstacle still standing in Dean’s way from learning something about him that has always been a blank spot in his knowledge about Cas. Additionally, it means that Dean can finally move on from the baton to an actual _sword_. It has taken him ages to achieve this and Dean finally manages it on a late Autumn afternoon. Sam told him it was impossible. Lisa claims _no one_ could ever unarm Cas. But Dean does it and he does it with the firm belief that Cas did not simply let him win.

Truthfully, Dean doesn’t actually intend for the hard curve of the baton to smack Cas across the back of his fingers. His motion carries forward into that and Cas drops the baton with a gasp, just as surprised by this as Dean is. Rather than stop and relish this moment for what it is, it is entirely possible that Cas might have entirely forgotten about the promise he made. And this is a golden opportunity to do something else Dean has never been able to do.

He throws his baton aside and lunges forward. Today marks the first day that Dean manages to pin Cas too. Granted, it is thanks to nothing but the element of surprise – but Cas has always taught him to use that to his advantage at every opportunity. Dean is well aware that the hold he uses to keep Cas down is weak at best and could easily be broken, but he doesn’t care. He doesn’t truly want to _pin_ him. All Dean needs to do is get the point across that Cas should hold still – and hopefully answer his questions.

It turns out to be far too difficult to keep himself from laughing out loud and Dean lets it bubble out. How can he be anything but proud of himself for this monumental achievement? He wishes that Sam were here instead of studying with his instructors today. Otherwise, Sam might not believe him when he announces that he finally disarmed Cas, tackled him to the ground, and sat on his stomach while Cas did nothing but stare at him.

“Now you _have_ to tell me, Cas!” Dean laughs and leans over him, hoping beyond hope that Cas remembers their wager.

A large part of his joy shatters when Cas frowns up at him in confusion. “Tell you what?”

He _did_ forget – which is odd because Cas _never_ forgets anything. It is also extremely disappointing and Dean sits back slowly, fighting his pout away with a frown. “You promisd that if I ever managed to land a blow that you would tell me if you’ve ever been with a man before.” Dean gestures at the batons laying in the grass. “I knocked your ‘sword’ from your hand and now you’re supposed to tell me.”

The last thing Dean expects to see is a flush bloom bright in Cas’s cheeks. He opens his mouth to say something, but nothing comes out. Is Cas _speechless_? Has Dean achieved yet another  impossible thing today? Apparently not. After a deep breath, Cas manages to say one word; “Oh.”

But what is that supposed to mean? Dean crosses his arms and glares down at him. “I won, Cas. Now you have to tell me.”

With another sigh, Cas covers his face with one hand. “Why would you even want to know that?”

“Because you know everything about me.” He pokes Cas in the breast bone sharply. “Or, at least, _almost_ everything. And I want to know everything about you. I _know_ you have more secrets that you’ve never shared.” And it is driving Dean _insane_ not knowing the answers to some of the questions that would be the deciding factor on whether or not he might eventually confess his feelings.

If Cas has no interest in men whatsoever, then Dean will never say a word about his feelings. But he has dedicated a large portion of his memory to learning everything and anything he can about Cas. He knows, from observation alone, that Cas likes cleanliness. Also, Cas prefers earthy colours. His favourite snack is any form of bread slathered with a jelly made from strawberries. It is one of the few things that Cas will actually indulge in more than he does anything else. Dean also knows that now that Cas knows how to read, he prefers spending any quiet time with one in his hands.

There are quite a few things Dean had to ask Cas about specifically, but he never had an issue with any question save for this one. And his insides twist unhappily as Cas drops his hand to the grass again and gives his answer.

“No.”

“But you _promis_ –”

Cas shakes his head and the flush in his face darkens. “I know what I promised. My answer to your question is _no_ , I have never been with a man.”

Dean grins so brightly it almost feels like his face might crack in half. He feels so relieved that it is borderline ridiculous. No man has ever touched Cas in the ways that Dean has spent years thinking of. That – this is good news. It bolsters Dean’s courage and he leans forward excitedly, another question already on his lips.

“But _would_ you ever lay with a man? Have you ever been with a woman?”

The first question is the most important. This is the one that Dean needs to know. It is only his curiosity – and his jealousy – that wants to know if Cas has been with anyone. Dean has been married to Lisa for a year now and they have not touched each other yet. They have no plans to do that any time soo, but the thought of Cas ever having lain with someone else makes a sour sensation burn high in his belly.

Before Dean can react, he finds himself on his back and incapable of moving. Cas has Dean’s hands pinned by his head and his legs are locked in place by the way Cas is practically laying on top of him. Dean has to focus on being surprised before he notices that Cas is quite literally _on_ him and looking down at him from a deliriously close distance.

“Disarming me by sword is one thing, Dean.” Cas says flatly, his face going just as emotionless as his voice. “If you want me to answer any more of your questions, then you must beat me at grappling too.”

Well, that does a wonderful job of destroying any of Dean’s focusing issues. He groans loudly and thumps his head againt the ground. “That’s not fair!” It _isn’t_ and he isn’t afraid of pouting either. “How come you won’t just _tell_ me?”

Cas’s mask breaks surprisingly quickly, drawing back into a smug smile right away. “This will motivate you to work harder.”

“That is _really_ not fair.” Dean whines. He just wants to _know_. “It took me almost four years to beat you at the sword and all I got out of it was such a small answer! The reward hardly fits the _years_ of work I put into trying to earn it.”

With a sigh, Cas sits back over Dean’s hips. He has to take a deep breath and force himself to focus on the wisps of clouds in the sky, trying hard to find shapes in them. Eventually, Cas huffs and relaxes slightly. “Fine. But if you want to know it, you must keep it a secret. Understood?”

Dean props himself up on his elbows and nods enthusiastically. “Yes, of course. I won’t tell a _soul_ , Cas. I won’t tell Lisa. I won’t even tell _Sammy_.” That’s the best promise Dean can ever give. If he won’t tell Sammy, then he literally won’t tell anyone.

Unexpectedly, Cas leans forward close enough for their noses to almost touch. All of Dean’s effort with the clouds vanishes instantly. He can feel his cheeks start to burn and it feels as though all the air in the world has been sucked away. How is he supposed to be able to breathe when Cas is so close and his mouth is right there and open and Dean can’t stop himself from looking at his lips.

Something causes Cas to hesitate before he swallows loudly and answers. “If I find out that you’ve told _anyone_ , I will make things _very_ difficult for you, Dean. Am I understood?”

“Yes, Cas.” Dean nods, wanting very much to hear the answer.

It takes a while, but Cas finally gives it. He closes his eyes before speaking. “I have never been with _anyone_ , whether man or woman. But I would lie with either if I ever found someone I was interested in.”

It feels like the sun has dropped from the sky to land directly in Dean’s belly. It’s burning him from the inside out and Dean can hardly breathe because of it. The only thing that Dean notices is when Cas rolls off of him and stands. There’s a question already burning in Dean’s throat and he scrambles to his feet too, already standing when Cas turns around. They nearly bump chests until Cas takes a quick step back.

Dean’s question is only one word. “Why?”

“Excuse me?” Cas frowns and tilts his head slightly.

“ _Why_ have you never been with anyone?” He takes another step to fill the space Cas leaves between them. Has he never found someone interesting enough? Or has he found someone and they are currently unobtainable? Dean wants to hope that it’s _him_ but he can’t bring himself to do it.

For a few moments, Cas is silent. He says nothing and does nothing. Dean waits with baited breath, battling the hope trying to bubble up in his chest while pushing back the fire burning in his belly. He wants to know the reason. There _has_ to be a reason why Cas has never been with anyone and Dean needs to know all about it. He needs to fill the gaps in his knowledge of Cas.

To his disappointment, Cas slides back into a prepared stance and raises his fists. “If you would like an answer to _that_ question, then you will need to defeat me at hand to hand combat. We can start now, if you would like.”

It feels as though the ground has been pulled out from underneath him. Dean has to close off so many parts of himself to keep from feeling disappointment or enraged or any number of other things. His mood for sparring has evaporated and he needs to talk to Sam or Lisa or both of them at the same time. And he might have to masturbate first. Matters were not helped by literally having Cas _on top of him_.

“No. We’re done for today.” Dean says firmly and turns away, fully prepared to run back to the castle.

Leaving Cas standing alone on the field doesn’t feel right, but Dean knows that Cas will catch up to him within a few minutes. He’s never far behind considering it’s his duty to watch over Dean. Though it will be difficult to keep him from hearing anything – either from Dean taking a moment to be alone or getting to talk with Sam or Lisa first.

Today’s revelations have altered Dean’s course and he needs to sort things out.

*

After the initial onset of Father’s sickness, Dean had two years to get used to the fact that he was dying. Despite that, it never got easier to accept. It nearly broke him every time he was notified that his father collapsed again, or any time they had their visits and he saw firsthand how weak and frail his father was becoming. At least Dean can be grateful that he and Sam were there for Father’s final moments, though it left Dean feeling too numb to even care when Cas wrapped him in a crushing hug before tucking him into bed that night.

Even now, on the day of his father’s funeral and his coronation as King, the ice left inside him by his father’s death is still thawing. Dean was barely aware that the ceremony was going on around him. He had played it out so many times in his head and practiced his speech through and through a thousand times over that it felt like the moment passed in the span of a few heartbeats.

The only truly upsetting thing about the coronation was that he didn’t approve of how soon it was being held after his Father’s death. Something else that amounted to merely be a mild irritation is that Dean was unable to hear Cas’s voice over everyone else when everyone gathered pledged their loyalty to him. That was disappointing, but at least Dean was satisfied by the look of surprise on Cas’s face during the announcement of Lisa’s pregnancy.

It had not been a very fun day when they had the talk about starting to try for a child. Neither one of them truly _wanted_ to do it, but at least they agreed after the first attempt that it was somewhat enjoyable during and toward the end. They started not long after Father fell sick with the hopes to conceive before he died. It was the one last thing that Dean could do for him and they found out that Lisa was pregnant shortly before his Father had died.

At the current moment, Dean's joy over anything to do with the announcement of Lisa's pregnancy has long since faded away. Right now, he is plagued again with worry while he prepares for bed. Dean can't help but feel like Cas is withdrawing from him once more. It feels like his wedding night all over again with the way Cas has been quiet for most of the party and he walks stiffly, as though he were made of stone. 

Dean can't take it anymore. They've made such strides over the last few years and he had hoped that Cas was past acting like this whenever something upsets him. He hoped that they were closer now; that they had reached a level of their friendship where Cas could simply _talk_ to him when something arises that bothers him. As if those worries weren't enough, Dean has yet another that is worse than all else combined.

Cas pledged his allegiance to the _old_ King. The treaty with the Aladai was with _him_. What if that is no binding and Cas is free to leave? What if he only mouthed along to the allegiance and he's only faking his tasks now? It's entirely possible that when Dean wakes up in the morning, Cas and all his things will be gone and all Dean will find is a note regarding his resignation from the employ of the kingdom.

Reading the treaty documents is high on Dean's list of things to do now that he is King. He needs to know and understand everything about it. But first, he needs to fix whatever it is that is wrong with Cas right now. Additionally, he wants to alleviate himself of these worries – and there is only one way that he can think of to do both.

“Cas?” Dean asks quietly, fumbling at tying close the neck of his nightclothes while he focuses on watching as Cas folds back the blankets on the bed he shares with Lisa.

“Yes?” Cas looks up at him, face blank.

He feels all the more dedicated to making things _right_ again – though Dean doesn't know how or why they changed in the first place. “I'm King now, Cas.”

“I'm aware.” That makes Cas's mask crack slightly with a small smile. “There was a big party. Did you miss it?”

A joke. Cas is actually making a _joke_. Dean would be amused if he wasn't already determined on making sure that Cas is going to stay. His ties are as good as they’re going to get and he abandons them. He goes around the bed to stand before Cas. “You once swore fealty to my father, Cas.”

His smile falters, falling into a confused frown. “And during your coronation I swore the same to you, along with the rest of your court.”

Dean wants to take Cas on his word, but he needs to know for certain. “I couldn’t hear you.”

He takes a step closer and Cas doesn’t move. If Dean took a deep breath right now, he’s thinks their chests might touch for how close they stand. This isn’t the first time that he has taken notice of how the difference in their height has changed. Cas will always stand tall in Dean’s memories, but now Dean stands before him as a man and almost eye to eye. Dean is an adult, a King, and soon to be a father. Is he deserving of Cas now?

Cas tilts his head curiously. “There were many other voices speaking at the same time. I’m not surprised that you were unable to single mine out.”

“Say it again.” Dean whispers softly, his heart beating harder in his chest than it has all night. “Swear your loyalty to me now. Promise that you’re going to stay with me.” He shifts on his feet, a nervous flutter filling his stomach as he all but prays that Cas will do as he requests. If he leaves – Dean is almost certain that if Cas leaves then the world will end.

At first, Dean expects Cas to object. There is nothing except Dean’s request that says Cas needs to say it again. But Cas drops to one knee without hesitation or saying another word. Dean takes a sharp breath and holds it, not wanting the sound of his own breathing to stop him from hearing Cas speak. The rumble of Cas’s murmured vows. Somehow, having Cas pledge his fealty in private is so _very_ different from the coronation ceremony earlier. It is far more _personal_ and it’s causing all manner of shivers to crawl along Dean’s ribs.

As Cas’s vows come to an end, Dean moves his hand without thinking. Part of the reason he holds it out is to, of course, help Cas to his feet. Primarily, he hopes that Cas will do what has never been required of him. When Cas lifts his head, he doesn’t look past Dean’s hand held out in front of him. A heat flares bright and hot through Dean’s chest when Cas leans forward without prompting to press a kiss to the ring, his lips brushing Dean’s skin lightly.

When Cas leans back again and looks up at him, Dean has little care for the blush he can feel burning in his face. He turns his hand over, offering it properly to help pull Cas to his feet. Over his lifetime, Dean has lost count of how many times he has held Cas’s hand. Today, it feels different. His whole arm tingles from the feel of Cas’s hand in his own and Dean doesn’t want to let go. It takes him a little while of staring at Cas, wondering how appropriate it would be to kiss him, before Dean realizes that Cas is holding his hand just as much as he is holding his.

Cas has yet to look away either and Dean wonders – he hopes – that Cas might be thinking of the same things he is. There’s a heat in Cas’s eyes and Dean can’t remember for the life of him if he’s ever sen it there before. Either way, Dean likes it. He wants Cas to look at him like that at all times. It’s setting his insides to flame and if Dean isn’t careful, he feels like it might burn away his inhibitions and he might actually kiss Cas tonight.

When they hear the creak of the door to Lisa’s changing room, they both step back from one another sharply, their hands dropping to their sides. Dean mourns the heat of Cas’s hand touching his own and he turns to watch him as Cas ducks around him, heading to the fireplace.

“Did you dress yourself again, Dean?” Lisa laughs, raising her eyebrow at him in a way that asks a different question than her words. She approaches and starts picking at the tie of his nightshirt to fix it. “No wonder you’re not ready for bed yet. Here I thought you two were just being lazy.”

Dean huffs and smiles at her, shrugging slightly while she ties it properly. He will have to tell her after Cas has left about what just happened. It feels like this is good news. Something has changed and he can only hope that it is for the better.

*

“I will return momentarily.” Cas says from the door, a basket of linens in his arms. “Is there anything that you would like me to bring back for you? Something to drink or a snack before your meal?”

Lisa shakes her head and Dean copies her. “We’re fine, thank you.”

He nods and takes a step out the door. “I believe that Sam’s lessons will be ending shortly. Would you like me to fetch him and bring him here on my way back?”

“If he’d like to.” Dean looks back down at his book.

Today is a rare quiet day for Dean and Lisa had chosen to spend it with him, the both of them chosing to read quietly in their bedroom together. Sam is more than welcome to join them and Cas has been keeping busy with something in his own bedroom, his door open just a crack so he can hear when he is being called for. Dean had invited him to do whatever he is doing in the same room as them, but Cas had politely refused without an explanation and the only reason Dean didn’t press for more was because of Lisa.

Cas shares far less of himself with Dean when Lisa is around. The same can be said for Sam. Even though Cas both trusts and loves them both, he is always so much more relaxed when it is only him and Dean together. That alone is half of Dean’s confidence in believe what Lisa told him once. Maybe Cas _does_ love him in the same ways that Dean loves him. If only.

As soon as the door is closed after Cas is gone, Lisa clears her throat. “You should talk to him now.”

Dean winces and hunches his shoulders. Today was going so well. He doesn’t want her to upset everything with a talk that will leave him balancing on the precipice of indecision. “Lisa, I –”

She closes her book with a snap. “I’m having a baby with my best friend, Dean, and our kingdom is prosperous and strong.” Lisa shuffles forward on her chair and reaches out to put a hand on his knee. “I have wonderful friends and a wonderful life. Marshall and I are together and in love and we only have to keep our relationship in secret until our child is born.” She squeezes his knee tightly and Dean can’t meet her eyes. “I’m _happy_ , Dean. I want you to be too.”

He shifts in his seat and lowers his own book. “I _am_ happy.”

“Are you being truthful?” Lisa sounds like she doesn’t believe him. “You’re happy with never telling Cas how you feel or finding out for certain how he feels for you?”

His heart twists in his chest and now he most _definitely_ cannot look her in the eye. “I’m _happy_.” And he truly is. He has a good life, an amazing family, and he is satisfied with what he has.

“But you could be happier.” Lisa says softly.

It isn’t even a question, but it is truth. Of course Dean could be happier. He would be walking among the moon and stars if Cas accepted his feelings. If he was allowed to wake up every morning with Cas next to him and get to kiss him and touch him – Dean would be happy beyond all form of reason. But he can’t say that out loud. He can’t because it hurts to voice that knowledge and know that he _doesn’t_ have that.

“You have my full support, Dean.” She says softly as she stands, leaning in to press a kiss into Dean’s hair. “Sam and I are here for you, no matter what happens. I only believe that you should speak to him about it. I saw how you were looking at each other on the evening of your coronation. You should do it.”

Dean shrugs and ducks his head. “I’ll think about it.”

That is the best answer he can give her now. If there is one truth to his life, it is that Dean loves Cas. Despite their rocky start, Dean knows he has always thought that Cas is beautiful. And perhaps he might not have always loved him, but he _has_ loved him for nearly half his lifetime. In another few years and it _will_ be half his life and more.

The only thing that stills Dean’s is his fear. He is afraid that he might be wrong. No matter how much he thinks – how much he _hopes_ – he can never be sure if Cas loves him the same way. And not knowing scares him.

*

Dean drums his fingers on the table, staring down at the literal dozens of paper covering the space before him. The words are bluring into each other and there is a steady pain thudding away in the back of his head. There are too many things to do and so many issues that need his attention. How did Father ever have any time for anything else aside from the massive piles of work stacked on the shelves of the council room? And why did he never tell Dean that the councilors are essentially _useless_?

All the councilors do day in and day out is _talk_. It rarely ever amounts to anything and Dean has to step in and make a decision, otherwise the councilors will talk a topic to death. Their job is to council him on matters when an obvious answer is not available, but they insist on discussing _everything_ that crosses the table. They claim that Father would wait until there was a majority decision before he would make a decision. From what Dean remembers of when he sat in on Father’s work, they are not being entirely truthful in that regard.

The constant chatter from the councilors is not helping the ache in Dean’s head. He hates the fact that he had to send Cas away to get documents from the library to help Dean make his decision regarding a dispute over land ownership between two farmers. Things are always easier to bear when he has Cas nearby, but right now he doesn’t even have that comfort. And Cas is taking much longer than Dean thought he would.

Cas is punctual to a fault. The fact that he is taking so long now is enough to cause Dean worry – if he had the time to stop and actually think. He’s so focused on reading over the records of the dispute between these two farmers that he doesn’t even notice when the door opens. Something itches across the back of his neck as though he is being watched, but Dean ignores it. It is hard not to be feel like he’s being watched when there are guards and soldiers watching him at all times.

Dean only notices that something is wrong when the voices of the councilors fall away one by one and Lord Campbell clears his throat loudly. “Where are the documents that you were sent to fetch?”

He lifts his head immediately and glances toward the door. As soon as his eyes fall on Cas, Dean knows something is wrong. There is a storm brewing within Cas, full of a simmering rage and vengeful fury. A muscles is ticking in his jaw and his hands are curled into fists. After knowing Cas for over eleven years now, Dean can tell his moods with just a glance.

Something happened to upset him like this and Dean frowns in concern. “Cas? What’s wrong?”

It is painfully obvious in Cas’s voice that he’s holding himself back from his anger. “Your Highness, may I please have a word with you in private?” He guestures toward the door sharply.

Without a word to anyone else, Dean pushes away from the table and leaves the room. The councilors can be damned for all he cares. Their constant bickering and chatter over the topics at hand have done nothing but frustrate him today. He still smiles when he hears Cas speak behind him, ever the diplomat.

“Please forgive the interruption. The King will be back as soon as he has dealt with a problem that has come to my attention.”

That peaks Dean’s curiosity – and fans his concern. What could have happened in the few minutes that Cas was gone from the council room? They need somewhere private to speak and the closest place at hand is a storage room not far down the hall. Dean heads there and waits for Cas at the door. There are nothing more than extra chairs, boxes upon boxes of candles and their holders, and spare scrolls of paper for taking notes in the council chambers.

Once Cas is in the room with him, Dean shuts the door and turns to him. His shoulders are tight and Cas’s whole body is practically trembling. Whatever happened has him angrier than Dean has ever seen him and it is _worrying_. Very few things draw this strong of an emotional reaction out of Cas and it is very nearly terrifying.

Dean puts his hands on Cas’s shoulders and squeezes them. “What’s wrong, Cas? What happened?”

He braces himself for something when Cas licks his lips and swallows thickly before he says anything. “Do you know where Lisa is right now?”

Does this have something to do with Lisa? Oh no. What about the baby? He frowns, both confused and even more worried than before. “Her friend, Lord Marshall, is visting her today. She should be in his company. Did something happen to her?”

After their wedding, Dean has had more of a chance to get to know Marshall. He’s softspoken, nice, and the exact type of man that Dean would have accepted as Lisa’s future husband had their marriage not been arranged. Maybe one day he might consider Marshall a friend, but for now he is merely an acquaintance and the man his wife is having an ‘ _affair_ ’ with.

“I’m well aware of the _company_ she is in.” Cas hisses darkly and jerks away from Dean to start pacing in the small space available in the storage room. “But were _you_ aware that she is _more_ than merely _friends_ with Lord Marshall?”

Oh _no_. What did Cas catch those idiots doing? He stares at Cas, trying to think of some way to talk them out of this. Not even Sam knows about Lisa’s relationship with Marshall. This is – this was not supposed to happen. Of course Dean hates having to keep this all a secret, but the less people who know, the better. Now Cas knows and he’s angry and he very likely thinks that Lisa is betraying Dean and –

Cas’s jaw actually drops and he is outright gaping at Dean. “You _know_.”

That is no question and Dean looks away sheepishly, shoving a hand through his hair nervously. “I do. I’ve known for a long time about her and Marshall.”

When he looks back, Cas’s throat and mouth are working without making any sound. When he finally finds his voice, it sounds choked – caught between outrage and disbelief. “And you _let_ her? Dean, this is so unprecendented – how could you possibly –”

“I don’t _let_ her do anything, Cas.” Dean snaps and slashes his hand through the air. He can hardly believe what he just heard. “You of all people should know, since you’re the one who _taught_ me it, that a man does not own a woman. Lisa is her own person and she can do as she wants. Lisa and Marshall have been in love for longer than we’ve been married.” He sighs and shrugs slightly. “I’ve known about their relationship for _years_. She and I discussed how it would affect our arranged marriage long before the wedding ever happened.”

But even after that, Cas seems incapable of accepting this. “But she’s your _wife_!”

That is an empty term to him and Dean throws his arms out sharply. “And I don’t love her!” He turns on his heel and starts pacing too, launching into the explanation. “We knew that this marriage was purely political and we had no say in it. I didn’t want Lisa to be wedded to me and never be allowed to be with the person she loves, so I gave her my blessing to continue her relationship with Marshall as long as it remained hidden for the time being.”

Cas still looks too angry when Dean turns to look at him. “How are you going to continue the Winchester line if you –”

This is getting ridiculous. When did Cas become so obtuse? “Just because I don’t love Lisa doesn’t mean I’m incapable of consummating our marriage. Love is _entirely_ different from sex, Cas.” And he would know it if he ever had it.

“Dean!” He gasps and turns away sharply, colour starting to tint the edges of his ears red. It’s an interesting reaction, but Dean does his best not to think about that right now. Dean can worry about whether or not Cas is still a virgin later. Of course it’s Cas’s decision to do with his body as he wills, but Dean can always hope.

“What?” Dean grabs Cas’s shoulder and pulls him back around to face him. “ _You’re_ the one who brought this all up!”

“Because I thought your _queen_ was having an _affair_!” Cas almost shouts, shoving himself away from Dean again. It’s a stab of pain between Dean’s ribs that Cas is upset enough to be acting like this. “I would never have said anything if I knew you were following in the footsteps of your father!”

Immediately, Cas deflates. He knows he said something wrong, but the damage has been done. Dean’s irritation at Cas’s stubborn stance through this conversation flares into a dark anger. He forces his way into Cas’s personal space until they stand nose to nose. “My father _loved_ my mother. He never lover her any less despite the lovers he took to his bed _after_ her death.”

His fists are shaking at his sides and he takes a deep breath. “The entire kingdom knew that. They also know that Lisa and I were an _arranged_ marriage. No one expects us to be in love, and you should know that better than anyone. I don’t understand what your problem is with this!”

Cas looks sufficiently cowed and he looks away, frowning at a shelf full of tinderboxes saved to light the candles. He’s quiet for a few moments before clearing his throat. “But the child is –”

“Mine.” That is a worry Dean finds understandable. He shakes his head and steps away. “That was the only stipulation that I had for Lisa and Marshall’s relationship. They could only be intimate with one another _after_ she was pregnant by me.”

When he looks back, Cas’s shoulders have slumped and all his anger has seeped away. Now he looks embarrassed; his head lowered guiltily and he isn’t looking at Dean anymore. The shame filling Cas’s frames tugs at the strings of Dean’s heart and he walks over to him again. He catches Cas’s wrist in one hand and squeezes it tightly until Cas looks up at him.

“It’s alright, Cas. I would have told you – believe me, I wanted to – but we kept this a secret because we didn’t want anyone to question if the baby was mine.” Dean smiles softly until Cas looks a little less upset with himself. “We won’t make it public that she has a lover until well after the baby has been born to keep anyone from thinking such a thing.”

The moment feels like it needs a joke and Dean fakes a frown. “Of course as soon as we do that, I’ll probably have all sorts of wily Ladies – maybe even Lords too – throwing themselves at me hoping my bed will be as open as my father’s was.”

Cas says nothing. He stares at Dean in a way that Dean can’t quite identify. Dean doesn’t know what to think of it and he smiles again, hoping to calm any feelings that may be riled up again. “I’m not hurt by this, Cas, and neither is Lisa. She’s very happy with our arrangement. Okay?”

But that only makes Cas frown. He pulls his wrist free though he touches it with his other hand, rubbing where Dean had been holding it. Slowly, Cas tilts his head and regards him curiously. “But what about you, Dean? Are you happy?”

That’s the same question Lisa asked him a few moons ago and Dean can feel his smile slip slightly. “Yes, Cas, I’m happy.” Saying that makes him think about how much happier he could be if Cas was truly his in all senses of the word – and vice versa.

“How?” Cas asks softly, his confusion still apparently. “You’re happy being in a loveless marriage know that your wife loves someone else and she warms their bed at night while you sleep alone?”

The question is not a malicious one, but Dean still feels a slight sting. Despite that, a smile comes to his lips. Cas is worried that Dean is lonely and unhappy – though that is far from the case. He has never been lonely – not with Sam around since he was born and Cas being at his side day in and day out. Even if Dean doesn’t hold Cas’s heart for certain, he knows at least that Cas cares for him quite a bit.

Lisa has done nothing but point out every moment she has seen personally since their marriage. Sam never said a word regarding any potential feelings that Cas might have for him and Lisa has more than made up for it. She only came to live at the castle the day before their wedding. Before then, Lisa never spent more than an afternoon in their company. Now that she can see how they interact in the privacy of their own rooms, she apparently sees more than Dean ever though possible.

Everything that he took for granted as simply being a part of their relationship stands out to Lisa. She claims that if Dean could see the way Cas looks at him when he isn’t look, that he would understand. Sam claims that Cas has always looked at Dean like that. He may see nothing different, but Sam has been just as exposed to how Cas and Dean interact as Dean has. Lisa is new. She has fresh eyes and Dean is more inclinded to belive her in this instance.

Perhaps it’s everything that Lisa has been filling his head with in the years since their wedding that gives Dean the confidence to say what he does now. “My marriage isn’t loveless. I _do_ love Lisa, but not as a wife. She’s one of m ybest friends.” Dean shrugs and places his hands on Cas’s shoulders again. “And when have I ever, in my whole life, been alone? I have _you_ ,  Cas.”

His words do have an affect on Cas. He drops his gaze and stares at Dean’s chest as colour creeps along the edges of his ears. “That’s not what I meant.”

An excited and _nervous_ shiver races through Dean. He gathers every ounce of his courage. Cas knows about Lisa and Marshall. There is nothing but his own limitations that are keeping him from confessing how he feels. Why wait any longer than now? Regardless, Dean can barely bring his voice any louder than a whisper. “I know exactly what you mean and it doesn’t change my answer any less.”

That does not get the reaction from Cas that he had hoped it would. He doesn’t raise his head, but he does close his eyes. His hands are trembling at his side, curled tightly into fists. Dean is finding it hard to breathe now. Is Cas thinking about it? Maybe he doesn’t quite understand what it is that Dean is saying? Truthfully, Dean is trying to be extremely subtle with his confession. He’s afraid of saying it plainly and potentially scaring Cas away. But he _has_ to try.

“Cas –” The rest of his works build up behind his tongue and Dean sighs, his smile falling away slowly. He grips Cas’s shoulders tightly, using this small touch to ground himself in this moment. This is happening. They are not leaving this closet without Cas knowing how Dean feels for him. “I mean it, you know? I don’t need anyone else because I have you.”

It is encouraging that Cas has to take a deep breath to steady himself. What is rather disappointing is that Cas pulls Dean’s hands from his shoulders, though it could be good that he’s still holding his wrists. Cas’s voice is not as sure as his grip is. “Dean –”

“Just listen to me.” Dean says quickly, interrupting him. He’s worried that Cas might say something that will break his heart. “Please, Cas, just listen.” He licks his lips and tries to remind himself of all the evidence Lisa has given him. “I – sometimes I know you better than you do. I know that no matter what I do, you’re never going to get what I’ve been trying to say without words for years unless I lay it out for you clearly.”

His voice is nothing but a whisper by the end and Cas has all but stopped breathing. Dean can’t be sure that he has ever seen Cas’s eyes this wide. He looks as though he’s caught between disbelief and a hope so bright that it hurts him. That hope he sees is what bolsters Dean’s nerves now and he takes a step closer. As soon as he moves, Cas’s breathing changes – coming quick and fast through his nose. He barely bats an eyelash when Dean brings his hand to Cas’s cheek.

A small, giddy laugh puffs through Dean’s lips. He can hardly believe that he’s being allowed to touch Cas like this right now and he smiles weakly, rubbing his thumb across the stubble on Cas’s jaws. Nervously, Dean bites his lips and continues. “This is terrifying because I’m not even sure how you really feel, but I – Cas, I –”

He’s going to say it. He’ll say it and make it real and Cas will know without a doubt and – and all Dean has to do is _do it_.

Cas’s grip on his wrists tighten and he whispers into the space between them. “I’m a servant, Dean.”

That changes nothing. “I know, but I –”

“ _Do_ you?” He interrupts, voice hardening.

Dean’s hopeful smile falls into a frown. This is something that he has long thought about whenever he allowed himself to entertain the mere idea of confessing his feelings. “I’m your _King_ , Cas. Of course I know!” He pulls one of his arms free and grabs Cas’s wrist quickly. Now it is time to spell things out for Cas bluntly. “I know that if I really wanted nothing more than your body, then I could just command you to lay with me. I know that if you denied me, I could have you punished by time in the dungeons, or a whipping, or whatever I need to get you to give me what I want. So yes, Cas, I _know_.”

And he is ashamed to admit that he _has_ thought about doing that before, on the more frustrating and lonely nights when he used to lie awake at night pleasuring himself with his hand to thoughts of Cas. But Dean cares too much for him to ever use his royal status to command Cas, or anyone for that matter, to warm his bed.

For a moment, Dean thinks Cas is on the verge of tears. His blinks several times and pulls Dean’s hand away from his face. Surprisingly, he’s hold transfers from Dean’s wrist to his hands. Dean grips them just as tightly as Cas is holding his. Things would be so perfect right now if only Cas didn’t look like this moment was hurting him. Maybe this is too much for him? Has he ever had anyone confess to him like this? To Dean’s knowledge, this is all entirely new to Cas.

Dean sighs softly and steps back, giving him some space. “I could never do that to you, Cas. You’ve been my best friend and a part of my family for years and you raised me to be better than that.”

His words only seem to break Cas more. He swallows thickly and shakes his head. “Dean, I’m a servant _and_ I’m an Ala–”

“I don’t care.” Again, Dean takes another step back and he draws both of Cas’s hands between his own. “I don’t care about your status, Cas, or your race. I care about _you_ and I’m leaving it all to you.” He takes a deep breath to steady himself before he brings Cas’s hands to his mouth to press a kiss to his knuckles. His heart races for this first moment when he gets to feel Cas’s skin under his lips. “Take as long as you need to make your decision.”

Cas says nothing and does nothing. He doesn’t even move when Dean lets his hands go. They hang limply at his sides. Dean feels as though he should say something  more, but what happens between them now is left to Cas now. All Dean can do is hope that Cas’s decision is the one that he wants – that he hopes they _both_ want.

Dean gives Cas one last hopeful look before he turns away to leave him with his thoughts. There is so much work for him to get to that he can’t afford to stand in the storage room with Cas until he comes to a decision. As terrifying as it is to have everything out of his hands now, Dean’s steps feel lighter. It feels _good_ to have finally said something.

It feels good, but Dean has never been more scared in his life.

He can only hope that he didn’t ruin anything of what they have now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aiming for Part 3 to be out on December 9th. I'll be more sure of that date later on this week.


	18. Timestamp: To Love (Part 3)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You know my feelings for you, Dean.” Cas says firmly, his hands gentle as he draws Dean to him until he can rests their foreheads together. “I would fight armies and raze kingdoms to the ground for you. If I could, I would bring you the moon and the sun and the stars.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> unedited because fuck that shit  
> i'll edit it when i'm less dead  
> sorry

By half a fortnight, Dean is on the brink of madness. Even though it has been barely more than seven days since Dean confessed and yet it feels as though ages have passed where he has been waiting for Cas’s answer. Despite that, Dean has been patient. He could wait years to find out what Cas feels for him. Cas needs space and he needs time to make his decision and Dean will most certainly give him that – even if it means that he spends several days anxiously waiting.

At the very least, there are some things that bolster Dean’s confidence in Cas’s answer. He uses these things to remind him that Cas does feel _something_ for him. Dean enver would have told Cas how he feels if he had never noticed the way that Cas looks at him sometimes. It took Lisa and Sam to make him realize that the warm smiles Cas has are always slightly different – slightly softer and more fond – when he gives them to Dean.

Even from the very beginning, Cas has always treated him differently than everyone else. As rough as the treatment was back then, when Dean was quite the brat and Cas was full of nothing but rage, he would not change a thing. As a child, he didn’t know better. Cas didn’t either, until he learned. Once he knew how to raise a child, Cas made Dean better. He _taught_ him better. It’s because of Cas that Dea nis a better man than he could have been under Matron’s hand.

Cas has given him so much that Dean wants nothing more than to share his life with him. And if he can, Dean wants to share his _love_ with him too. He just holds so much for Cas that he can think of nothing else he would rather do than spend it with Cas. Which is why he hopes that his answer will be a ‘ _yes_ ’, and that is why he lives every day with the worry that the answer might be a ‘ _no_ ’ – no matter how much he tries to remind himself of evidence to the contrary.

Things are not helped by Sam’s quiet voice in his head. Since Dean first told him about his love for Cas, Sam has both supported him while simultaneously reminding him that it is entirely possible that Cas might say ‘ _no_ ’. He has given him every reason why Cas would refuse his affections, if only to keep Dean from getting his hopes too high. Thus far, Dean has chosen not to listen to Sam’s warnings. If he had listened to them, he never would have managed to gather the necessary courage to say anything to Cas.

As much as Dean does not want to have his heart broken, he also doesn’t want to make Cas uncomfortable. He’s fairly certain that when he made his confession, Cas wasn’t uncomfortable. He was certainly shocked, but it did not look like it was in a negative way. Dean has convinced himself that the surprise then had been because it was something that he wanted to hear and was not simply not prepared for it.

But every night when Cas helps him get settled for sleep, Dean thinks he sees something in him. Whenever Cas puts out the light, he always glances at Dean as though there is something he wants to say. He never says anything, but Dean always gets the impression that Cas doesn’t want to leave the room, even though he always does. It’s obvious that Cas is torn on giving his answer.

Though Dean wants to give him all the time to decide, he can only hope that Cas doesn’t take too long to answer. Despite that being what he wishes, Dean finds that he isn’t ready on the day when Cas decides he is ready. While he waited, it felt like every moment was crawling by. But the night when Cas stands at the edge of the bed after tucking a pan of coals underneath it at the end – on _that_ night, it feels as though every moment has flown past in the blink of an eye. It feels like just earlier that day when he had told Cas that the decision was in his hands.

As always, Dean sits propped against the pillows at the head of the bed. He likes to wait for the coals to heat where he rests his feet before he lays down properly. When he looks to Cas hopefully, just as he has every night since he confessed, Dean really isn’t expecting an answer tonight. Something about the way Cas is holding himself – stiff, as though he were in pain – causes worry to root itself in Dean’s chest.

He sits up a little straighter, about to ask if Cas is feeling alright, but stops himself. Cas’s hands are curling into fists and trembling at his sides. When he takes a deep breath, steeling himself for something, Dean’s worry blooms into an out of control nervousness. Were he not frozen by the realization that this is _it_ , he would likely be on the verge of hyperventilating.

Cas’s whole demeanor stays tight and controlled as he bends at the waist to bow. “My apologies, your Highness, but I cannot return your feelings.”

Dean knew this was a possibility, but the answer still hurts. He can feel every shard of his heart as it breaks and he hopes that he won’t cry. Not now and not in front of Cas. That resolution becomes harder to keep to when Cas continues speaking.

“Please accept my resignation from my position. If you would grant me your permission, I would like to return to my tribes once my affairs are in order.”

Time stands still in that moment. Dean is sure it is only his confusion and utter disbelief that keeps him from shattering completely. Do his ears deceive him? Did Cas really just say that he wants to _leave_? This was another possibility, but it was never expected. Even Sam had never said that Cas would leave because of Dean’s confession. It was always one of Dean’s fears, but Lisa and Sam were both so adamant that Cas would never leave that it had bolstered Dean’s courage exponentially.

He has never hated himself more than he does in this moment. If he had never said anything, Cas wouldn’t be saying this now. But _why_ is he saying it? Is he leaving because Dean has made him uncomfortable? Is it something else? Has he always wanted to leave and he is only using this as an excuse to go now? There are so many questions and Dean can’t bring himself to give a voice to any of them. All he can do is stare at Cas and feel his heart fall to pieces.

When Cas looks up again, Dean can’t read his expression. He has always been good at hiding his emotions and maintaining a calm exterior. It’s something Dean has tried to emulate for times when he needs to diplomatically put someone in their place as King. Tonight it is a struggle to wipe his face of any expression. Dean wrestles a door into place in his chest, shutting it tight and locking away his pain to be dealt with when Cas is out of the room.

Once he has numbed himself to the pain, Dean is left with nothing but confusion. And when he is confused and there is no apparent answer in sight, Dean gets mad. It comes easily to him now. Dean is angry with himself for putting his feelings out there only to have them crushed and drive away one of the few people he loves dearly, and he is angry with Cas. How is _leaving_ an appropriate response to Dean’s affections? And without an explanation at that?

The anger hardens Dean’s words, and it hardens his heart. “Fine.” Dean turns away from Cas now, rolling onto his side and pulling the blanket up over his shoulders as if he can shield himself from this moment with it. “ _Go_.”

Cas leaves without another word after he puts the candles out. Dean listens to his soft footsteps as he crosses the room and he can’t help but think that Cas is taking his heart with him. He leaves Dean with nothing but a hollow space in his chest and the knowledge that baring his heart has driven away the one person he has loved for as long as he can remember. His broken heart has been pulled from his chest and it leaves him aching.

Unsurprisingly, Dean can’t sleep. He rolls onto his back and stares at his ceiling, listening to see if he can hear Cas moving around his room like he usually does. Tonight there is nothing but silence. Somehow, that makes this moment all the more surreal – and all the more difficult to sleep. And, of course, the deluge of questions is making it almost impossible for his mind to quiet down enough for any rest.

He thinks long into the night about what part of what he said – or of what he did – that would make Cas want to leave. If Cas simply cannot return Dean’s feelings, he could understand that. But _how_ is him being in love with Cas grounds for him leaving? Cas’s answer was not supposed to leave Dean feeling like this. He feels sick to his stomach and he rolls over onto his belly to hide his face in his pillows. Dean drags the blanket over his head, completely blocking out the world.

For the first time in as long as he can remember, Dean feels _embarrassed_. How could he be so foolish as to think that Cas would want someone ten years his junior and ruler of a kingdom that has essentially kept him _prisoner_ here as an exchange of services involved in a peace treaty? The Aladaï were granted passage and trading rights within the Lowlands and the kingdom received a handful of highly trained warriors prepared to train their soldiers and knights to be better fighters. Cas was _obligated_ to stay here for his people.

What was Dean _thinking_? He never should have said anything. If he had just kept his mouth shut and his feelings to himself, he wouldn’t feel this hurt. He wouldn’t feel so angry – with himself, with Cas, with Sam and Lisa, with _everything_. With the riot of feelings washing over him now, it’s little surprise that it all results in tears. Dean hates how they sting in his nose and soak his pillow. At his age, he shouldn’t be crying – but what else can he do now?

Cas is going to leave him. He doesn’t exactly know when, though it will likely be soon, and then Cas is going to be _gone_. Why – God in Heaven – _why_ is this something that would make him _leave_? Could – could it be that Cas never cared for him? Have all these years just been an act? Is it possible that Cas has just been biding his time, waiting for a moment when he could find a good excuse to leave without breaking the peace treaty?

Dean doesn’t want to believe that Cas is that kind of person and he spends most of the night trying to remind himself that Cas would never do that. His mind never stops for a moment. He barely knows what time of the morning it is when he drags himself from bed to pull back the curtains. The sky is still dark and speckled with stars, though the horizon is starting to pale. It’s the morning already, which means Cas is going to be cutting through his room soon to go get preparations started for Dean’s day.

With a sigh, Dean turns to look at his bed. The bedding is a mess and Cas will make it as soon as he comes into the room and realizes that Dean is awake. Why should he bother? He’s going to leave anyways. These tasks won’t matter to him anymore. Which is all the more reason why Dean should learn to do it himself. It is almost completely unthinkable to him that he would have another attendant after Cas is gone.

He can hardly remember what it looks like when the bedding is placed properly, but Dean does his best. It still looks wrong, but it’s a start. He’ll learn how to do it right eventually. Just as he’ll leanr how to pick out his clothing. It is while he is in the process of getting dressed and pulling his tunic over his head when he hears the door to Cas’s room open. Even his outfit doesn’t look as good as it does when Cas picks out his clothing for him, but Dean finds that it is very difficult to care for something as simple as bedding and his clothes in light of what was told to him last night.

He tries very hard not to flinch from how steady Cas’s voice is when he gives his usual greeting. “Good morning, your Majesty.”

Pain pierces Dean’s chest suddenly, as sharp and pin-point as an arrow. How can Cas sound so _normal_ when everything is going to change so soon? Dean doesn’t trust his voice to give an answer and chooses instead to focus on buttoning the front of his tunic. He won’t address what happened last night. Cas made his decision and he plans to leave. Dean will respect his choice, even if it feels like it’s killing him.

Though his eyes are downcast, Dean is keenly aware of where Cas is as he crosses the room to start fixing the bedding. “I can still do the duties expected of me until I leave.” Cas says softly, straightening the pillows before dragging the blanket over them to smooth it out.

“Don’t bother.” Dean says flatly, doing his best to keep his voice emotionless. He doesn’t want Cas to know how much he’s hurting. It’s a matter of pride now. “I’m going to have to learn how to do it myself anyway. I might as well throw myself in headfirst.”

The rustling of the bed covers stops and Dean notices from the corner of his eye that Cas is facing him now. “There is no need for you to learn my tasks. I will assing the most competent of your servants to be your attendant when I’m gone.”

“I don’t want one.” His upper lip twitches up and Dean can’t keep his upset from showing in his voice. If he can’t have Cas as the one at his side day in and day out, then he wants _no one_.

“Your Highness –” Cas starts, apparently intent on actually trying to discuss this further when it is _clearly_ not a matter that is up for debate.

With a frustrated snarl, Dean pulls his belt through the cinch. “I said that I don’t want one, _Castiel_.” His full name sounds so foreign to him and Dean hates using it. But if Cas insists on leaving and on using only his titles (something that Dean has not failed to notice) then he will return the formality.

He turns to Cas with a hurt glare. “If it’s not _you_ then I don’t want _anyone_ helping me. You can assign all the damn guards that you want, but I’m _not_ going to take another attendant."

It’s the first that Dean actually _looks_ at Cas this morning and the heartbreak of the night before crashes through him again. Cas won’t look him in the eyes. No sooner has Dean turned to him does Cas drop his gaze to the chest of clothing at the end of the bed. He crouches next to it and starts shuffling through the clothing for something new.

“A king needs a personal attendant, my Lord, if only to help him choose matching attire.” He stands again with new tunics and another belt in his hands.

Before Dean can stop himself, he reaches for Cas’s elbow. He told himself he wasn’t going to do this, but how can he not at least _try_? “Then _stay_.” His voice cracks and a lump fixes itself in his throat, each breath struggling past it as he pulls Cas around to face him. “I won’t ask anything of you like that again. I promise, Cas – please –”

Please, what? Please forget he ever said anything? Please forget that he has feelings for him? Please don’t leave him here to face ruling a kingdom alone? Please keep the promises that he made to him – that he would never leave, that he would help him when his child is born? Please don’t leave. Please, please, _please_ , don’t leave him?

Carefully, Cas pulls his arms free from Dean’s grip and he lets him go. “I’ve made my decision. I will stay in the kingdom until Sam’s birthday.” Cas hands him new tunics and a belt before he turns away to start folding Dean’s nightclothes. “If you don’t want another personal attendant, then I will make sure that there is a competent servant readily available to you without being at your side at all times.”

He doesn’t want that either. All Dean wants is standing before him and slipping through his fingers, pulling farther and farther away from him. It hurts and Dean moves forward to place himself in front of Cas, trying to get him to at least _look_ at him. “Cas, _please_ just –”

“You left the decision to me and this is what I have chosen.” Cas shakes his head and never looks up from his hands. “One day, I’m sure you will understand why this is necessary.”

If he wasn’t certain that his heart had been pulled from his chest last night, Dean is positive that he would feel his heart breaking all over again. Cas won’t look at him and he won’t say his name and he isn’t going to change his mind. Is this truly a lost cause? With more than a decade spent together Dean knows how to identify a fight with Cas that he can win. There are some where if he pushes enough, he can get to break to his request. And then there are some that Cas has a steadfast stance and his decision cannot be swayed.

This feels like one of those times. Dean has never felt so hopeless – so _helpless_ – in his life. It is not a good feeling. Frustrated and angry with himself, and with Cas, Dean turns away to change into the clothing Cas chose for him. He can feel the sting of tears behind his eyes yet again and his sleepless night is weighing heavy on his mind. If he could, he would rather crawl into bed and never face this day. But he has so much work to be done and now arrangements need to be made for Cas leaving. Could there be anything worse than this?

Cas catches his wrist and Dean’s breathing skips, stuttering in his chest. But he is left disappointed when all Cas does is adjust his belt. As soon as Cas’s hands have fallen away again, Dean pushes past him. He can’t stand being in this room anymore. His fingers slip on the lock, but Dean manages to turn it and get the door open. It doesn’t matter that Cas is still busy with folding his clothing and putting them away. Dean needs to get _some_ space between them – otherwise, he’s certain he won’t be able to breathe.

There is little to no chance that Dean is going to be able to stomach eating anything this morning. Breakfast is about as appealing to him as this situation is. His mood now would only spoil the meal for Lisa and Sam, and Dean decides against going. He blindly takes the halls to the council room instead, not caring if Cas is behind him or not. As much as he hates to admit it, not having Cas at his side is something he will need to get used to.

Dean drops heavily into his chair at the head of the council table and stares dejectedly at the papers left scattered across it from yesterday. What he wouldn’t give for it to be yesterday again – _before_ he ever made the mistake of opening his mouth and spilling his heart out for Cas to see. If he had just kept his feelings to himself like he originally planned, Cas wouldn’t be leaving. Nothing would be changing and things would be _normal_.

This is his own fault. He never should have listened to Lisa, or to Sam. Dean has no one to blame for this except himself – no matter how much he wishes that he did. Maybe if he drowns himself in his never ending paperwork, these coming days will hurt less. It’s doubtful, but Dean still drags the pages closer, prepared to devote himself to running the kingdom rather than dwelling on being rejected and left by the man he loves.

*

It is of little surprise that Cas stays in the kingdom until after Sam’s fifteenth birthday. This is the year that Sam comes of age. He is considered an adult and a man in his own right now and if Sam meant _anything_ to Cas, then it is only right that he would stay. As nice as that is for Sam, it is nothing but heartache for Dean. Cas staying until Sam’s birthday meant more moons that Dean would have liked having to sit in silence and watch him make his arrangements to leave.

Dean has _hated_ the last few moons. He hated having to watch Cas find people to replace him. He hated Sam and Lisa badgering him to find out what happened and why Cas is leaving. Everything about the last few moons has been _horrible_ and the only way Dean has survived it is by throwing himself into all the word that the council gives him. Though, to be fair, his Kingly duties have been a very good distraction. He’s barely had the time to even think about how his heart shatters every time he looks to Cas and finds that he won’t meet his eyes.

Because of how Cas is so busy preparing to _leave_ , Dean feels more alone than ever. It doesn’t help that he has been doing his best to avoid Lisa and Sam, if only because they keep asking about why Cas is leaving. Inevitably, they do catch him and Dean has ignored every question or simply snapped at them until they left him alone. What other choice does he have? His pride has been too badly bruised to ever tell them that his affections were so scorned that Cas has is _leaving_.

The last few moons have left Dean feeling so very empty. He’s too hurt by Cas leaving – by Cas abandoning him – that he doesn’t want to talk to anyone. Not to Lisa, not to Sam, not to any of the members of his council, and certainly not to Cas. He’s lost count of how many times he’s tried asking – _begging_ – Cas to stay. Every time has failed and it only took a couple fortnights for him to stop trying.

By Sam’s birthday, Dean has given up. Nothing he can say or do is going to make Cas stay. Tomorrow morning, Cas is going to leave. And that is why Dean gave up. He stopped trying over a fortnight ago. It hurt too much to keep trying and he couldn’t take it anymore. Same as how he absolutely can’t see Cas leave. He can’t stand at the gates and wave goodbye. He can’t watch Cas walk out of his life forever as if it isn’t completely tearing him apart inside.

After Sam’s party, Dean doesn’t want to go to bed. For the last time, Cas escorts him to his room. He looks exhausted and Dean isn’t sure how he can still be standing. Cas put this whole party together and he spent the entire day running around ensuring that everything went as planned. This is his last night in the kingdom and he deserves a good night’s sleep before he leaves. He’ll need it for the long walk back to the Aladaï lands – since Sam decided to inform him that he is _walking_ back.

If he was a better person, Dean would dismiss him early. But this is the last night he’ll have Cas help him prepare for bed – though he has barely been helping in the last few moons. Dean picks out his nightclothes and pulls back the blankets on the bed himself. The only thing Cas has done since _that night_ is check the locks and make sure the curtains are pulled back. It’s Dean’s hand that puts out the candle from his bed as Cas leaves the room in silence. They haven’t bid each other goodnight since Cas said he was leaving.

He doesn’t sleep. Not that night and barely any night over the last few moons. Dean considers it lucky if he can calm his thoughts and his heart enough to sleep through a whole night. Usually he reads, sometimes he works on a puzzle, but most nights he lays in bed and stares at the ceiling while thinking nothing at all.

Tonight, he only stays in bed for a short while. When the silence gets oppressive and he is certain that everyone in the castle is asleep, Dean gets up and digs out his day clothes. He has been getting better at pairing his clothing to something satisfactory. Cas hasn’t corrected his outfit in over a fortnight. As quietly as he can, he gets dressed and makes his bed again, seeing only by the single candle he relit.

On silent feet, Dean goes to the door of Cas’s room and opens it. The hinges are well oiled and it makes no sound. By the light of his candle and the moon through the single window above the bed, Dean can see the whole room. It feels bare and empty to him, even with Cas on the bed and his pack on the floor. For a few minutes, Dean stands and watches Cas sleep, snoring softly into his pillow. He watches for as long as he can before it feels like his throat is starting to close up and tears threaten to fall from his eyes.

A large part of Dean wants to say goodbye. It doesn’t feel _right_ that Cas leave without one, but Dean can’t even bring himself to whisper it into the dark. The words get caught in his throat and Dean takes a deep breath to try and calm himself. He has to walk on the tips of his toes when he passes through Cas’s bedroom and into Sam’s, opening and closing doors as quickly and quietly as possible.

Sam snorts when Dean shakes him awake. “Dean?”

He hushes him with a hand over his mouth. “Quiet. Just listen to me, okay?” When Sam nods, Dean continues, though he doesn’t move his hand. “I’m going to the council chambers. I won’t be there at the gates in the morning.”

After a few sleepy blinks, Sam sits up quickly. “You’re not even going to see Cas off?”

“No.” Dean never palnned on it. “Tell him what you want, but I’m going to the council chambers now.”

Sam rubs a hand over his eyes and glances around the room. “What time is it?”

“Middle of the night. Dawn won’t be for hours yet.” He pushes at Sam’s shoulder to make him lay down again. “Go back to sleep. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Will you tell me then why Cas is leaving?”

Dean doesn’t answer him. He leaves the way he came, passing through Cas’s room one last time before he leaving through his bedroom. It catches him by surprise to see another tall Aladaï warrior standing guard there, dressed in Lowlander style. They turn sharply, hand already on the hilt of the sword at their waist before they realize who it is.

“Your Majesty!” They say in surprise, dropping to one knee immediately and bowing their. “I didn’t know you were awake. Is there something I can get for you?”

“You’re one of the new guards.” He says flatly, ignoring the question as he looks up and down the hall for anyone else. The only other person, aside from the usual knights posted along the wall, is Sam’s night guard outside his door.

The Aladaï stands again. “Yes, my Lord. My name is Ezekiel. Castiel chose myself and my twin brother, Gadreel, to be part of your guard. The other is one of your knights; Sir Benedict – or, as he has informed me to call him, Sir Benny.”

It’s almost amusing that Cas decide it would take _two_ Aladaï and a knight to give Dean the same amount of protection as he did. Dean would laugh if he wasn’t so upset that in a few hours, Cas is going to be waking up and leaving the kingdom for the last time. For this Ezekiel, Dean merely nods and gestures for him to follow. There is work to be done to keep him from thinking of how much he is going to miss Cas.

Aside from all the work he has to do as King, there are an overwhelming amount of things still left for him to learn about _being_ Kin. There should have been years yet for him to learn how to hold the throne before he was to ever take it. The crown became his too early and there is still so much that he doesn’t know about how to run his own kingdom. Luckily, there are dozens upon dozens of documents detailing everything about the position of King. It’s enough to keep him occupied into the early morning.

The curtains drawn over the window hide the sunlight from telling him the time of day. Dean is so focused on reading that he doesn’t realize the time until there is a soft knock on the door and Meg enters the room once permission has been given.

She curtsies with her bow. “My Queen has asked me to come and let you know that Castiel is leaving.”

“Thank you.” Dean closes his book and rubs a hand over his eyes. No matter how many nights he goes with little sleep, it never gets easier. “You are dismissed. Return to your duties.”

As soon as the door is closed behind Meg, Dean drags himself up from the table and crosses the room to the windows. None of the council has arrived yet this morning, and Dean takes advantage of that. He opens the curtains just a crack, enough that he can peek through without it being noticeable from the courtyard. Though he doesn’t want to be at the gate, he can’t bring himself to move from this spot.

From where he stands, Dean can see Sam and Lisa at the castle gates with Cas. His fingers curl tightly in the fabric of the curtain while he watches them hug goodbye. After a few moments of talking, Cas takes Lisa’s hand. Dean can’t be sure, but he thinks that Cas gave something to her. It’s hard to see through the tears starting to blur his fvision – though none have fallen yet.

He doesn’t care that his guards are all in the room now; Sir Benny by the door, Gadreel in the opposite corner, and Ezekiel napping in a chair next to him to recover from being awake most of the night. A sob catches in his throat as he sees Cas step away from the others. Dean scrubs his sleeve over his eyes and turns on his heel. His patience for this day is already at its limit and it has barely started.

“I’m not feeling well.” Dean announces at the door, looking back as Gadreel elbows Ezekiel awake. “I want one of you to stay to inform the council that I am retiring to my room for the day. Once that is done, send word to Chieftain Gabriel that Castiel is walking back and I want to be notified as soon as he arrives at their camp.”

“Yes, your Highness.” They say in unison and since he doesn’t hear the scrape of the chair, Dean assumes that Ezekiel is the one who will be remaining in the room for now. It doesn’t matter to him. He’s only learned their names because it’s the polite thing to do. As far as he’s concerned, none of these guards are an appropriate replace for Cas.

No one will ever be able to replace him.

Dean heads back to his bedroom without another word, holding back his tears until the door is firmly closed behind him.

*

After endless days of Dean only getting out of bed to go to the council room for work, and taking all his meals there (if he bothers to eat at all), it is very obvious that Lisa and Sam are worried. Dean rarely sees anyone unless it has to do with his Kingly duties and he only speaks when needed. No matter how much time passes, Dean feels like there is a hole in his life without Cas at his side. He’s loved Cas for over ten years and how is anything – _anyone_ – ever going to be able to fill that space he left?

That hole is not just at Dean’s side, but it’s in his heart too. It’s been broken. The shattered remains were pulled from his and carried away to the Aladaï lands where he’s never going to see it again. Dean understands this and he knows that he is _sad_. More than that, Dean is empty. Happiness feels so far away no matter how many days pass. He tries not to dwell, but waking up to find that Cas is still gone and it’s not some lonely nightmare makes it very hard.

Aside from his sadness, Dean’s patience for most things is nearly nonexistent. On more than on occasion, he has snapped at either Sam or Lisa for bothering him for too long with questions he doesn’t want to answer or activities he has no interest in. Lisa only puts up with his mood for a short while before she stops trying to see him. She officially moves out of the bedroom they used to share, claiming that his sour disposition is unhealthy for the baby. Dean lets her leave.

Once the baby is born and enough time has passed, her relationship with Lord Marshall will be made public and he can move into the castle to share her room. If they’re lucky, there won’t won’t be an uproar when Lord Marshall moves in. Technically speaking, if Lisa moves out now when Dean’s mood is so terrible, no one should suspect that it’s because there are no romantic or sexual feelings between them and neither desires to share a bed with the other.

The thing is – Dean _wants_ to be happy again. He’s only nineteen years old and he doesn’t want the rest of his life to be lonely and unhappy like this. There are some days when he feels more like himself, when the thinks that he might be feeling happy again. But on those days, he’ll turn around and open his mouth to ask Cas something or make a joke to him, and he’ll find Gadreel or Ezekiel there instead. Their short hair and dark skin do little to help with making him forget Cas.

Dean had offered to let them wear clothing modeled like what Cas used to wear, but they both refused. They’re far to used to doublets and trousers now to want to change back. At least their acceptance of Lowlander clothing helps to separate them from Cas in his mind. Though it does nothing to make Dean miss him less. Every day Dean wonders how long it’s going to be before he’s used to Cas being gone. He wonders when things will be _normal_ again.

The first step to that might be sleeping properly at night. Dean barely manages a few hours a night. His head is too full of questions to allow him to sleep. Always, always, _always_ , he is asking himself about _why_ Cas left. Dean has had other young ladies of the court confess to him before whenever he had been told to dance with them at social events while he was growing up. But he never walked away and never spoke to them again. Dean continued to see and dance with them at every party and he even considers some of them to be friends – or as much of a friend as he _can_ have while being busy as King.

If he could continue being around them after they were rejected, why couldn’t Cas stay after telling him he wasn’t interested? Was he worried that Dean was going to force him anyways? Did Cas think that little of him? Did Cas just want to get back to the Aladaï lands? How much of Cas’s time here was true or not? Because of this, Dean has started to doubt some of his most fondest of memories. Every hug, every touch, every smile – he can’t help but _wonder_ if they ever meant anything to Cas.

As detrimental as those thoughts are too his sleep, rest is not helped by the assassins. Barely a fortnight had passed since Cas’s departure before someone had tried to slice his throat in his sleep. Dean was awake the moment he felt the first breath of a breeze on his skin and he his hand was under his pillow to grab the dagger there in the same instant. He was more than able to hold off the single assassin for the short time it took for his guards to get into the room to intervene, but it was still a jarring event.

Cas’s training prepared him well, but Dean’s hands still shook after the assassin had been taken away. No one had attacked him in years purely because Cas had been such an efficient and effective guard in his first few years of protecting Dean and Sam. He’d had a reputation that stretched into neighbouring kingdoms and many considered him a _demon_ for how viciously he fought to protect them.

It had not occurred to Dean by that point that he would have to worry about his safety. Now his nights are plagued with paranoia that another attack might come at any moment, and the never ending stream if _why_. Cas left, but he left the matter unresolved. He can respect that Cas doesn’t return his feelings. If Cas had just said that and only that, Dean could have accepted it and moved on. But the fact that Cas chose to _leave_ as a part of his decision without any further explanation it – it doesn’t sit right with him.

This whole matter unsettles him and the only time that Dean can stop thinking about it briefly is whne his son is finally born.

One evening, Dean is in the middle of drafting a potential trade agreement between the Lowlands and the Northerners when news of the onset of Lisa’s labour reaches him. There is no decorum when Miss Mills crashes into the council chambers and ignores the glares of the councillors as she rushes to Dean’s chair to gleefully inform him that the midwives and healers were being summoned. When Dean stands up, so does Lord Campbell.

“Your Highness, where are you going?”

“To witness the birth of my first child.” He responds, not even bothering to look over his shoulder as he follows after Miss Mills. She’ll know which room has been prepared for Lisa to give birth in.

Lord Campbell’s voice follows him out of the room. “My Lord, it is highly unusual for the _King_ to be present at the time of –”

With a single gesture, Dean has Sir Benny close the door behind him. He has no patience for antiquated traditions. For the last moon it has been nothing but the approaching birth of his child that had kept him even remotely looking forward to the next day, hoping that it would be the one when he would become a father. Dean can only hope that having a child will help distract him more. He wants to devote his free time to raising his heir rather than spend it wallowing in the unknown and pining over Cas.

When he was growing up, Dean’s education had been severely lacking in learning about what occurs during pregnancy. Reasonably, he is completely confused by the chair sitting in the middle of the room when he is led into it. Lisa is pacing back and forth across the room, breathing in a weird pattern while a nurse follows closely behind her. The chair is missing the majority of the seat, consisting only of the side edges and the back and looking quite a bit like the letter U.

Sam arrives shortly after Dean and they stand quietly to one side of the room. They want to be as unobtrusive as possible to allow for everyone to do their job and bring this baby into the world without complications. It’s only when Lisa must hike up her skirts and sit on the chair that they’re actually summoned closer. Each of them stands on either side of her, one hand on a shoulder and the other holding her hand.

It’s a whirlwind of activity – mostly Lisa making snarling noises that Dean will have nightmares about – before the cry of an infant fills the air. Lisa sighs loudly and sags back in the chair, breathing deep and closing her eyes. Dean is fairly sure that he might never be able to use his hand again, but what does it matter when a nurse is tying and cutting a cord that connects his _son_ (as is quite evident) to Lisa.

He’s a _father_ now and that realization is almost enough to make Dean miss the midwife’s announcement that they’re not done yet. For a delirious second, Dean thinks she means twins, but his hopes are dashed immediately. “The afterbirth has still yet to come and that will be just as difficult for you, my Queen.” She says softly, patting Lisa’s knee. “Don’t worry about the new Prince. The nurse will clean him up until you’re ready.”

Lisa groans loudly and her grip on Dean’s hand tightens again. Sam outright winces and shares a look with Dean. Neither of them knew the complete details of child birth – only know what they’ve heard in stories. This is new, surprising, somewhat horrifying, and Dean can only marvel at what Lisa is doing. She brought a new _life_ into this world and he is so proud of her for it. He is more than happy to call her his Queen and the mother of his child.

Dean feels like it takes forever for everything to finally be over. Lisa gets cleaned up and he helps her to the bed, Sam carrying her on her other side. She reclines in the bed, exhausted and aching, but smiling so brightly when the nurse brings her the baby. He’s swaddled in the softest blanket in the castle and alternating between quiet whimpers and muffled cries. But he’s clean and beautiful and Dean can’t help staring at the little life he helped to create.

Together, Lisa and Dean had decided to throw tradition to the wind yet again and give their child a name _they_ wanted. Tradition would have had them naming him after a previous King – specifically, Dean’s father – in honour of his early demise. As nice of a reminder as that would have been, neither he nor Lisa enjoy the old traditions, though they will make their son’s middle name his father’s. But his given name, that was chosen along with a girl’s – just in case they had one.

Carefully, Dean reaches out to touch the little hand waving outside of the edge of the blanket. An honest to goodness smile spreads across his face. “Hello, Benjamin.”

“Our little Ben.” Lisa coos, stroking a finger across his cheek. “He looks just like you.”

Sam has tears in his eyes and he hiccups loudly. “How can you tell? You never saw Dean as an infant.”

“I just know.” She murmurs, rocking Ben in her arms. “He’s going to be just like his father when he grows up. You’ll see.”

Dean practically beams with pride. He sits on the edge of the bed and watches over Lisa and Ben until she needs to rest. Ben is sleeping peacefully by then and he doesn’t wake when Dean takes him. The smile doesn’t leave his face as Dean walks up back and forth at the end of the bed, watching the way Ben’s face scrunches in his sleep. It’s the first time in a very long time since Dean feel honestly _happy_ , and he holds onto that feeling for as long as he can.

Sam stays for a while, but his yawns grow more numerous the longer the night wears on and he retires to his room long before Lisa’s nursemaid insists that Dean gets his own rest too. By then it’s the middle of the night and Dean doesn’t feel tired in the least. At this point, he is usually still awake and reading a book. It’s only in hours before dawn when he can manage a short nap before he has to get up to begin his day.

Regretfully, Dean hands Ben to his nursemaid. “I want to be summonded when Lisa wakes up. Is that when Ben will be fed?”

“Sooner than that, my Lord. I will be waking her shortly for his feeding.” She shoos him toward the door with one hand, Ben cradled in the curve of her elbow. “But you need your sleep and she will be returning to sleep as soon as he is fed.”

A pout pulls at his lips, but Dean does as he is told. The nursemaid knows better than him in the matters of a newborn and he’ll defer to her judgement for now. Even if it means that once he arrives at his bedroom, he simply lays on top of the blankets and stares at the ceiling. His thoughts are blissfully not focused on Cas tonight. Right now they’re wrapped around Benj and the fact that Dean is a _father_ now.

Cas may not be here, but at least Dean won’t be doing this alone. He has Lisa and Sam and a variety of servants to tend to the things that he can’t. Despite that, Dean is still worried. Will he be a good father? Will he be able to be there for Ben enough? Is it possible for him to see Benjamin more than once or twice during a fortnight? He can only hope that the answers to all of those questions are a ‘ _yes_ ’.

And as all things go with his thoughts, these worries lead him back to Cas. Dean’s chest aches when he remembers Cas’s promise that he would be here to help him during this time. Was that another lie? Or was it just a broken promise, a casualty of Cas’s leaving? In either case, Ben is here and Cas is not. It’s an odd mix of happy and sad, resulting in a pain that Dean doesn’t know how to identify. Why was he happy with Ben in his arms, but in the silence of his bedroom he’s sad again? Would the nursemaid turn him away if he asked to sleep in the room with Lisa and Ben?

He just doesn’t want to think about Cas anymore.

 _God, Dean misses him so much_.

The knock at the door startles him and Dean sits up sharply. It came not from the main doors, but the simple wooden one nearly hidden behind a tapestry. It came from _Cas’s_ old room. For a moment, Dean forgets to breathe. Impossible. It couldn’t be – No. Sir Benny is sleeping in there before his shift change with Ezekiel at Dean’s door. But he never knocks when he passes through to relieve Ezekiel.

“Dean?” Sam’s soft whisper follows the sound of the latch and the quiet glide of the door being opened. “Are you awake?”

With a sigh, Dean flops back across his bed and throws an arm over his eyes. It was silly of him to get his hopes up like that. “Yeah, Sammy. Come in.”

After a moment, the bed dips next to him and he moves his hand to see Sam laying beside him. He’s on his side, staring at him in the dim candlelight. “How are you feeling, Dean?”

“Too many things to choose from.” Dean sighs and rubs his hands over his face. “I’m happy and sad, scared, sick, and loney. Pick whichever one you want.”

Sam touches his shoulder gently. “You’re going to be a fine father.”

“Maybe.” That’s what he wants to be, but what if his duty as King keeps him from being able to be the father that he wants to be?

A beat of silence precedes Sam’s next whisper. “Are you still sad about Cas?” When Dean doesn’t answer, he continues. “It’s been barely a whole moon since he left, Dean. You’re allowed to be sad.”

“It feels a lot longer than that, Sam.” Dean can feel the confusing mix of anger and sadness fill him again and it’s making him feel sick to his stomach. “For me, it feels like Cas left the night that he told me he didn’t share my feelings.”

“So, you _did_ confess.” He doesn’t sound surprised.

Dean rolls onto his side to put his back to Sam. “What else would have made Cas run away like that? Have you ever seen him with anyone before? No. Cas is – Cas doesn’t have it in him to love anyone.” But even as he says the words, Dean knows they aren’t true. In his own way, Cas _did_ love them. He would not have raised them so well if he didn’t.

Sam sighs loudly as the bed creaks with his movement as he sits up. “Do you really believe that?”

Of course he doesn’t. “I miss him.”

A hand rests on his arm, giving Dean comfort he didn’t know he needed. “We all do, Dean.”

“I wanted him to be here.” He whispers, fighting back the lump growing tight in his throat. “I wanted Ben to meet him and I wanted Cas to be a part of our family.”

“I know.” Sam rubs his arm until Dean rolls onto his back again, staring at the ceiling while Sam remains sitting upright, his knees drawn up against his chest inside his nightclothes.

After a while, Sam lays down again on his back too. He’s quiet for so long that Dean thinks he might have fallen asleep, until Sam takes a deep breath and rolls to face him again. “Can you – would you tell me what happened?”

“You want to hear how I had my heart broken?” A dry laugh claws its way past the lump in his throat and rests his arm over his eyes again. “I told him that I loved him and gave him time to think about it. He took half a fortnight to wait before he told me he couldn’t return my feelings. I could have lived with that, you know? But then he went and said he wanted to give his resignation and _leave_.”

Once again, Sam sits up, eye wide and bright in the flickering light. “Were those his _exact_ words?”

Dean glares at him from under his arm. What does it matter? Cas is gone. Words are just words and Cas used them to cut the ties between them. He’s gone and who cares what the exact words were? But Sam is on his knees now, kneeling next to Dean almost as though he were excited for the night before his birthday again – like when he was a child.

“Did Cas really say that he _couldn’t_ return your feelings?” He sounds breathless.

A loud groan rumbles through Dean’s chest and he looks away. “Yes, Sam, he did.” Why does he insist on making Dean relive one of the most painful of his memories? It’s certainly not the _worst_ , but it cuts Dean deeply whenever the memories dance behind his eyes.

The silence that follows is telltale. Dean has heard in for the last fifteen years. He sits up and faces Sam again, eyes narrowed. “I know that sound.”

“I’m not making any sound.” Sam whispers, a smile growing on his face.

“That’s your _thinking_ sound.” He pokes Sam in the chest. “What are you thinking? What are you _plotting_?” What could he have seen in Cas’s words that Dean didn’t?

“I’m thinking that if there’s one thing I know about Cas, it’s that he cares more for you than he does anything in this world.” Even as a whisper, Sam’s voice holds a weight to it that feels like a fist to Dean’s gut. It knocks the wind from his lungs and it takes Dean a while to recover.

Finally, when he can breathe again, his own voice is nothing more than a croak. “He has a funny way of showing that.”

Sam rests both his hands on Dean’s shoulders and squeezes. “I want you to be happy, Dean. And I want Cas to be happy too. As things are, I don’t believe that you two could be happy together.”

Dean’s brow furrows with his frown. “What? Why?” If it’s Cas’s status, he can fix that easily. If it’s the fact that he’s an Aladaï – well, Dean can’t wipe out the prejudices of his people completely, but he can ignore them.

“I can’t explain it to you.” He shakes his head and pats Dean’s shoulders. “That would be something you need to speak to Cas about.”

Snorting, Dean pushes him away. His ire is starting to climb again and this conversation is starting to do nothing but annoy him. “In case you haven’t noticed, Sam, Cas is _gone_. I _can’t_ talk to him. And he certainly didn’t want to talk to me. Do you know how often we spoke outside of necessity after he rejected me? _Barely at all_.”

“I know. I saw how you two interacted.” That does nothing to deter Sam’s smile. “But now that you told me, I know that Cas _couldn’t_ –”

“I _know_ what he couldn’t do!” Dean snaps. Why won't Sam just let this go? "If all you plan to do is continue bringing this up, then you can follow in his footsteps and _leave_. I am done with this. I just want to get back to some semblance of normality now." He points toward the door Sam came through. "Go back to your room."

Hurt flashes across Sam's face and he slowly crawls backwards off the edge of the bed. Before he walks away, he looks back at Dean. "Cas said he _couldn't_ return you feelings – not that he _didn't_. Perhaps that's something you should think about. Goodnight, Dean."

He is left stunned. It's the sound of the side room door closing that brings Dean back to himself. For several long moments, he stays seating on his bed, staring at the space where Sam had been standing. His words echo through Dean's mind. Cas said _couldn't_ , not _didn't_. How did Dean not notice that before? It was his hurt that blinded him. If only he had seen this _before_ Cas had left. God, but he could have stopped him from leaving. He could have – they could have – things could have –

What is that?

Dean blinks away the question to focus on a cloth pouch sitting on the blankets next to him. Did Sam leave that? He doesn't remember seeing him holding it, but then again the room is rather dark. The only source of light is a single candle flickering in a stand on the bedside table. The pouch is simple and softer than it looks. It's not something Dean would expect Sam to own. He doesn't even know where Sam would have gotten his hands on something like this.

In fact, it looks like something that _Cas_ would own – something left over from when he grew up in the Aladaï lands. Perhaps it's something that Cas left for Sam – or _with_ Sam? Is it something for Dean? Should he go check with Sam to make sure that he didn't leave this behind by accident? That would be the right thing to do, but Dean's curiosity wins out and he picks at the knot in the string that keeps the end of the bag drawn closed.

The last thing Dean expects to fall out of the bag and into his palm is Cas's opan necklace. He doesn't even need to turn around to see it in the candlelight to know what it is. An image of Cas wearing it on Dean's wedding knight flashes through his mind as soon as the smooth stone touches his skin and the thin chain it hangs from snakes over his fingers. It makes his hollow heart shudder in his chest.

Cas's necklace. The necklace of his father, and of his mother. _Cas's necklace_. Why would he leave this behind? Why would he give it to Sam to give to him? Does it hold the same significance to Cas as it did to his father? Is Cas using it to say the same?

He never said that he _didn't_ love Dean. He only said that he _couldn't_. There is a difference. The question doesn't change. It's still a _why_. But now why couldn't he return Dean's feelings? What was stopping him? If Cas _does_ love him, why would he run away like this? All the questions have hardly changed, but they hold a whole new meaning for him now.

*

"You should go." Lisa says softly, using the tone of voice she only uses around Ben. His cheek is pillowed on her shoulder, making little whimpering noises against it while she sways back and forth across the room in a careful pace to try and lull him to sleep. "In fact, I _want_ you to go."

Dean has been following her around the room, ready to take Ben at a moment's notice. He is determined to be a part of Ben's life, even though a nursemaid waits just outside of the room. She is there for when Lisa gets tired while Dean is sequestered with his council. It took a hefty push with his Kingly influence to convince the council that he would take at least an hour a day with Ben and Lisa. Being with them right now is one of the few things that makes him happy.

Currently, he is both confused and slightly hurt by Lisa's words. "I don't understand."

"Look at yourself, Dean." She glides to a stop and rocks in place, one hand patting Ben's back lightly. "I can't remember the last time you had a meal with Sam and I. Another few moons of this and you'll be nothing but skin and bones."

Her eyes look him up and down pointedly and Dean turns away, feeling self conscious. It's true that he had to have new holes put in his belts because he could not cinch them tight enough to keep them from slipping from around his waist. But he has no appetite. The food that he _does_ manage to eat is tasteless and stale to him. He does try, but there are only so much sunlight in the day and he finds himself often forgetting to take a break – even when the councillors have their meals delivered to the council room.

If he was lucky, that would have been the end of Lisa's words. Dean actually flinches when she starts speaking again. "Eating aside, you barely sleep too. I've spoken to your guards and they tell me that you're awake at all hours of the night. I know you're on edge from all the attacks – which have happened more times than I can count over the last few moons – but you _need_ your rest. How can you make decisions as a ruler when you're so tired all the time?"

"I sleep enough." Dean mumbles, shuffling on his feet. Being the object of her scrutiny is not a pleasant experience. "I haven't slept properly for a while now. I've adjusted."

"No, you haven't." Lisa hisses before she softens her voice again. "You need to face the facts, Dean. What you need – _who_ you need, is Cas. Without him, you're a wreck. You don't eat and you don't sleep because you miss him. It takes _three_ guards to protect you from attacks that Cas handled on his own. You _need_ Cas."

He shakes his head and crosses his arms firmly. "No, I don't. Why do I need anyone who couldn't even have bothered to come to Ben's welcoming party?” Dean pointedly does not looking toward Ben’s crib and the carefully crafted doll propped up in one corner of it – the doll that Gabriel told him Cas had _made_ for the new prince. “He _knows_ what he meant to our family and he still went on a damn mission rather than coming with the Chieftain.”

"You can lie to me all you want, Dean. But you _do_ need him, and for more reason than you seem to grasp." She sighs and turns away, starting up her slow pace around the room again. "And I would gladly bet that Cas needs you too."

"He needed me so much that he chose to leave." Dean sniffs, lowering himself to sit on the only chair in the room. "He left. No matter the reason why, he still _left_."

Lisa rolls her eyes and glares at him over Ben's back. "There _is_ a reason why and you two thick-headed idiots never bothered to actually talk about _why_. Which is why I want you to go and find him and _talk_ to him. Get the exact reason as to why he left. There is far more to this than just your confession."

His head snaps up, eyes narrowed at her. "Sam told you." He'll wring his brother's neck for this. Lisa and Sam may have been the only ones to know about his feelings for Cas, but that doesn't mean that he wants them to talk about it behind his back.

"Sam didn't need to." She sighs, stopping to turn toward him again. "You're my husband, Dean, and one of my best friends. I _know_ you. It didn't take much thought to figure out what happened. And you just confirmed my suspicions, thank you."

Dean slumps in the chair and runs a hand over his jaw. He barely takes the time to shave anymore and his stubble is coming in now, making his skin rough under his fingers. As much as he would like to hunt Cas down and get the proper answer from him – let alone just _see_ him again – there are plenty of reasons why that isn't possible. "I can't leave the kingdom." His eyes stray to the swaddled baby against Lisa's shoulder. "Or Ben."

"I can take care of both." She waves her hand in dismissal before returning it to rubbing circles over Ben's back. "And when I can't, Ben has his nursemaid. You'll only be gone for a little while. I only want you gone long enough for you two to sort out whatever problems you have and then you can come home again – with or without Cas."

What is he supposed to say to that? Dean is torn between wanting to see Cas again and never wanting to see him again, purely because of the pain he's given him. He _had_ tried to talk to Cas, before he'd given up even doing that. Cas had refused to give a proper answer before he left. It's been a few moons since then and the summer is almost given way to autumn now. What could have changed during this time to make Cas give him a straight answer now?

Dean doesn't know what to say, or what to do. All he can do is wrap his hand around the opal pendant and stare blankly at one of the walls. He stays caught up in his thoughts while Lisa hands him Ben and it's his turn to pace. They've been trying to get him to go to sleep for over an hour now, and he's being so fussy. Even that isn't enough to distract him from the plans taking form in his mind.

If Lisa is willing to take the load of his rule for the fortnight or so that it would take him to travel to and from the Aladaï lands, then this does become a possibility. He would need to send notice to Gabriel and find out when Cas will be returning to the tribe from his mission, if he hasn't already. Dean would also need to get Gabriel's permission to visit their tribe to see Cas.

God, but _seeing_ Cas. That would be – just thinking about it gets a fire rekindled in his belly. Even the thought that Cas might not want to see him isn't enough to stop him from thinking of this. He's getting excited again. The only thing in the last few moons that has managed to get an emotional reaction out of him aside from annoyance or anger is Ben. Now Dean is _anticipating_ something for the first time since Ben was born.

Eventually, Ben falls asleep and Dean puts him down carefully in the cradle next to Lisa's bed. She gives him a grateful smile and he doesn't hesitate to pull her forward into a tight hug. "I'm going to go. I'll send notice to the Chieftain immediately of my plans."

She draws back with a smile. "Good. Trust me, Dean. This is only going to be for the better."

Later, when he's alone in his room and drafting a letter to Gabriel, he can only hope that she's right.

*

This is the first that Dean has ever left the kingdom. He has left the castle grounds and the surrounding city, but never the Lowlands in its entirety. The Aladaï lands are a whole different country and Dean marvels at how the country side looks the same as what he has always knownn, but at the same time it feels entirely different.

Where he can usually see farms or small villages from the road while traveling through the Lowlands, there is nothing like that here. Since they crossed the borders, Dean hasn't seen a single farm house. Animals graze where they will and the road is nothing more than a path trodden through the fields. Sometimes he can see people in the distance, working their way through crops laid out in patterns that make no sense to him.

There is a hush laid over the land. It's relaxed and even the air feels different to him. Dean breathes easier here. Everything that Cas ever told him about the Aladaï comes back to him now. They live _with_ the land rather than trying to control it and Dean can see it. He can _feel_ it. Perhaps it's just the otherworldly feel of another country for the first time, or perhaps it's something deeper – but Dean likes it here. It would be nice to have the chance to explore this land more.

For a long while, as their horses plod along the road, Dean wonders if they've missed Gabriel's camp. There are no signs along the roads to denote where anything is and he worries – until he hears it. The clash of steel and battle cries echoes trough the air long before Dean and his compnay see the camp. It sounds like a battlefield until they crest a hill and Dean lays eyes on an Aladaï camp for the first time.

He has seen them a thousand times in his imagination, built from Cas's descriptions over the years. Nothing prepared him to see dozens upon dozens of squat wooden huts spread out across the plains before them. Cas had warned him that he came from the biggest of the camps – since Gabriel is the head Chieftain for the _all_ the Aladaï and not just the tribe he runs. But Dean was not prepared for this. Stretching all along one side of the huts are dozens of long houses, and separated from them by a short stretch of land are training fields where there has to be hundreds of warriors training.

It leaves Dean and half his company speechless. Ezekiel and Gadreel are completely unaffected and they lead the way down toward the camp. They skirt the edge of it at a safe distance, watched by various children who have managed to slip away from their own training to peek out from between the huts. Many Aladaï workers come to a stop to see the foreign King ride by. Some are farmers, some are worksmiths, and others are warriors taking a break from practice.

This is the first that Dean has ever seen warrior women and he is surprised by it. Their state of undress is almost scandalous and it makes his cheeks burn with a blush. It is understandable that they dress like the men, since skirts and frocs would be far too difficult to fight in. But Dean still has never seen any woman wander around in the Lowlands with nothing but her breasts bound and trousers on.

All these new sights keep Dean enraptured as they travel until they come across the most elaborate hut so far, nestled between a handful of log buildings of various sizes. There is extra draping on this hut, done with colour fabric that sets it aside from the rest. The rest of the huts are merely wood with no lavish designs or anything to set them apart from the others. This one is extravagant and Dean can only assume that it belongs to Gabriel.

Only after he has been guarded closely from his horse to the hanging curtain that marks the entrance of the hut does Dean realize that he was so focused on observing the new scenary that he hadn't even thought to try and spot Cas among all the faces. He nearly forgets that as soon as he steps through the curtain. The difference in the air is startling. Outside on the rolling plains, the air is cool and the only relief is from the bright sun. Inside the hut, the air is warm and pleasant and lit by glass bowls hanging from poles, small flames burning in them on beds of a fuel Dean doesn't recognize.

There are very few people waiting for Dean inside the hut. In can be argued that they aren't even _waiting._ Gabriel is stretched out on a mound of pillows to one side of the tent with a scroll of parchment spread across his knees. A boy, perhaps a year or two younger than Sam, stands next to him with more scrolls held in his arms. The most surprising thing that Dean can see is that there are no guards anywhere and he's fairly certain that he didn't see anyone stationed outside the hut anywhere either.

"Put those down, Samandriel." Gabriel gestures to the boy as he sits up. "You may leave."

"Yes, sir." The boy bows. He quickly stacks the scrolls on a table against a 'wall' of the hut before he bows to Dean as well.

Ezekiel and Gadreel had both opted to stay outside and guard the entrance to the hut. Sir Benny steps out of the way and holds the curtain up for Samandriel to leave. Once they are alone, Sir Benny takes up a position halfway between the curtain and Gabriel's apparent throne of pillows, standing at attention while Dean approaches the Chieftain.

"So, King Winchester." Gabriel drawls, rolling up the scroll with lazy twists of his wrists. "You're here for the illustrious Castiel, are you?"

Dean frowns, thrown off by the casual tone – even if Gabriel used his title. "You know I am. You sent notice that he had returned from his mission."

"I did. And, as luck would have it, he's still here." His grin is lopsided as he tosses the scroll aside into the pillows. "There's one thing I never brought up during our communication. I'm doing it now." Gabriel's eyes are sharp when he glances back at Dean, sly and knowing. "All I would like to know is _why_ the _King_ of the Lowlands wants to speak with one of my warriors?"

His stomach drops. This was not completely expected and Dean glances briefly at Sir Benny. "And as I told you, Castiel left on uncertain terms. I would like clarification with him for peace of mind."

Gabriel sits forward. "Why?"

A frown creases Dean’s forehead and he shifts on his feet. “I fail to see why knowing more than that concerns you.”

It may not a particularly diplomatic answer, but Dean feels he can be pardoned on that matter. To get here he traveled a few days by horseback to and he’s _never_ been on a horse that long. Dean has aches in places he didn’t think possible and his spirits have not been in the best of moods over the last few moons while waiting for Cas to return from this supposed _mission_ he’s been on. Now that he’s finally here, his anticipation is at an all time high – including his nervous worries that the pending conversation with Cas could go horribly wrong. After all, they do have a history of that now.

One of Gabriel’s eyebrows arches. Dean can’t tell if he looks surprised or amused. “Well, your Highness, for starters – Castiel is one of my people. To my understanding, you no longer required his services and he was granted dismissal back to his homeland after his years of service as part of our peace treaty. Did Castiel _lie_ to me?”

The last thing that Dean wants to do right now is get Cas in trouble with his Chieftain. On any other occasion, he would happily lie to cover both their hides. Today, however, is different. Dean is talking to the _Chieftain_ of a people that his own nation was practically at war with as little as a decade ago. If he violates Aladaï customs while he’s here, that might only put a strain on the relationship between their people – including making it near impossible to ever be able to convince Cas to come back home.

His silence must carry on for too long, because the smile Gabriel gives him now is almost cruel. “Tell me, King, what business do you have with one of my people?”

Dean came this far already. If he allows this to stand in his way now, would he truly deserve speaking with Cas? As much as he feels like he has already earned it over most of the past year, how can he say that he loves Cas and would do anything for him if he can’t do this? It would be a waste of everyone’s time if he turned back now purely because his ego doesn’t want to tell Gabriel that his heart was broken and he’s try to seek solace – while hoping that he can resolve matters to the point where he can bring Cas back with him.

Pride is not sacrificed easily, but Dean wants to see Cas. He wants to hear his voice, see his smile, and just be _near_ him again. For Cas, he can bare himself one more time.

“Sir Benny. Give us a moment.”

He looks like he wants to object to the order, but Sir Benny still does as he’s told. As soon as they are alone in the hut, Dean opens his mouth and spills his story. It is somewhat cathartic to tell someone who is nearly a stranger to him about his feelings for Cas and the raw wound the rejection and subsequent abandonment has left him with. For so long, the only people who knew were Lisa and Sam, and then eventually Cas.

Despite the liberating feeling, explaining the situation only serves to rile Dean up. By the end of his story, his frustrations with Cas’s decision to leave have increased yet again. He’s not sure the hurt will ever go away, even if Cas does return with him. But, hopefully, it can be somewhat healed just by having this conversation he so desperately desires.

Once Dean’s story is done, Gabriel still maintains his surprised and vaguely amused expression. After a moment of silence, he separates a large pillow from his pile and pushes it into an empty space next to him. He pats it excitedly. “Take a seat, your Highness. Why don’t we call Castiel in now? Samandriel!”

The boy from before steps into the hut again only to be sent away immediately to fetch Cas. Sir Benny ducks inside and stations himself across from the entrance. He should have remainded outside. Dean will be dismissing him again when Cas arrives, though he has no idea how long that will take.

“You can talk with Castiel to your heart’s content.” Gabriel explains, gesturing at the pillow again. “All I ask is that I be here for it. You won’t _believe_ how boring it is to run an entire tribe of warriors. I need some entertainment in my life and this is more than I could ever ask for.”

He would prefer being alone with Cas, but that might be impossible – and it’s likely that Dean would not be able to control his temper. Raising his voice at Cas would not be the best of ways to convince him to come home. Having Gabriel present might actually be _beneficial_ to the conversation – on one extremely important condition.

“Fine. But you need to be silent.” Dean insists, barely giving the pillow a glance. “When we’re talking, I don’t want any interruptions.”

“My lips are sealed.” Gabriel grins and holds one finger over his lips.

Even though he would rather stand, it might be frowned upon to start pacing in the hut of a Chieftain. Dean forces himself to sit on the pillow offered to him. Despite having spent his whole life wearing stockings and tunics, Dean finds himself rather comfortable in trousers and a doublet – though he could do without the heavy chainmail. There’s no worry of his stockings falling or the feeling of his under-tunic riding up, and he does prefer the soldier’s boots he’s wearing now to the heeled footwear of a King.

Perhaps he’ll continue wearing these when he returns to the kingdom. It will be yet another of the changes he is making to _tradition_. There are some he would like to honour, but many simply don’t suit him or the way his people are growing.

Dean clutches at the opal hanging around his throat. Thinking about his clothing is doing nothing to calm the anxious anger flowing through him. He needs to calm himself. If he wants to face this conversation with a level head, then he needs his wits about him. Right now, Dean feels too on edge. The moment he sees Cas, he might simply _react_ and, at this point, Dean isn’t sure what he would react with. He’s still hurt, still angry, and so very _tired_.

Before too long – though longer than Dean would like – Samandriel returns. He pushes the curtain aside. “Sir, I’ve brought him.” Immediately, Dean’s stomach feels like it relocates to his throat and he can hardly breathe. “Should I send him in?”

Gabriel covers a yawn and nods. Without another word, Samandriel steps aside and holds the curtain up, making a gesture for someone – for _Cas_ – to come in. Dean holds his breath at the sharp jolt in his chest as Cas strides into the hut, head held high and proud as ever. His eyes are on Sir Benny until he turns to the far side of the hut where Dean and Gabriel are sitting. For the first time in a very long time, things feel right again. Just having Cas in the same room feels like the stars have aligned and all is as it should be once more.

But nothing is right. Nothing is as it was. Cas’s pants may still look the same, but his shirt is missing. His skin is more tan than Dean remembers and there are mottled bruises in several place that make him both worried and furious. Who hurt Cas? Do they still dare to breathe? Cas was never supposed to get hurt again. That’s why Dean cut his hair and trained so hard and – and Cas _is here_. He hasn’t been this happy and this heartbroken in _moons_.

Before he realizes it, Dean is on his feet and crossing the hut to him.

His expression is as inscrutable as ever, but Cas’s eyes do widen slightly as Dean approaches him. They flick up and down Dean’s form so quickly that he almost doesn’t believe he saw it, but Cas’s gaze lingers on the pendant and it makes Dean’s cold heart beat furiously. He has so many questions about the necklace, let alone everything else. Each one is building up in his chest and Dean is almost afraid to speak for fear of not knowing which one is going to come out first.

It takes him a moment to realize that he and Cas are standing eye to eye. What inch or so of height that was left between them before Cas left is all but completely gone now. It should be disorienting, but it does nothing to stop Dean from getting as close into Cas’s personal space as he thinks he can get away with. His hands twitch at his sides and Dean needs to ball them into fists to keep from reaching out and touching – whether to deliver a blow or pull Cas into a hug. He doesn’t know which.

There really is only one logical place for Dean to start and the words come out on a choked hiss – the only thing that he can manage right now. “You said _can’t_. Not _don’t_.”

Immediately, confusion fills Cas’s face. His eyesbrows draw together but instead of saying anything, Cas merely steps back and drops to one knee. He bows his head and presses his knuckles to the floor, as silent and infuriating as ever.

“What in the hell are you doing?” Dean snaps, barely holding back a frustrated growl.

“He’s waiting for permission like the good little warrior that he is.” Gabriel drawls, stretching out to throw his legs over the pillow Dean had been sitting on. “You may speak, Castiel.”

As soon as he’s said that, Cas stands. Dean throws a glare over his shoulder. Chieftain or not, Cas is _far_ more than simply a warrior. Gabriel essentially just insulted Cas in front of him and at any other time, Dean wouldn’t stand for it. But what can he say against the Chieftain of the Aladaï? Anything he plans to say is wiped from memory the moment he hears Cas’s voice for the first time since the spring season.

“Thank you, sir.” Cas nods to Gabriel before he looks to Dean and tilts his head slightly. “I’m sorry, your Majesty, but I don’t know what you’re talking about. May I ask why you’re here?”

Of course he doesn’t know. Why is Dean surprised? A bitter laugh scrapes out his throat and Dean turns away from him. Does Cas even really care that he’s wearing his necklace? Did leaving it for Dean really mean nothing to him? Does Cas even care that he’s _here_? So many questions and Dean wants to ask them all at the same time. He has to prioritize and he can’t say anything while Sir Benny is here.

“Wait outside.” Dean says to Sir Benny, pointing toward the entrance. When he hesitates, Dean gestures behind himself. “I’ve got Castiel _and_ the Chieftain with me. Nothing is going to happen.”

As his protector here, it’s understandable that Sir Benny would be unwilling to leave his _King_ alone, but Dean is only frustrated by the frown on his face. These are personal matters and Sir Benny needs to _leave_. After a short moment, he sighs and bows, leaving the hut quickly. Samandriel follows him and a hush fills the room. It’s just Dean, Cas, and Gabriel – who is smiling far too much for Dean’s liking. He pointedly glares at him for a moment, hoping that will be enough to will Gabriel silent before he turns back to Cas.

Disappointment lances through him when he finds Cas’s eyes on Gabriel instead of him. The confused frown is still on his face, though now it seems to be sliding a little into something unsure. To anyone else, Cas’s expression might still be unreadable, but Dean has spent a decade memorizing this face. He knows every nuance of how Cas displays his emotions and he can pick out exactly what Cas is displeased with at this very moment.

Dean waves his hand to catch Cas’s attention as he steps in front of him again. “We can talk candidily. He knows.” Unfortunately.

And now Cas’s eyes are, once again, back on Gabriel – though this time they are wide with surprise and not just a little bit of horror. It’s likely Cas doesn’t think that Sam or Lisa know about what happened between him and Dean before he left. He probably thought that _no one_ knows. Truthfully, having the Chieftain of his tribe aware that the King of an allied country is in love with him would likely be rather shocking – if Dean stopped to care about things.

“I had to tell Gabriel that things did not end well between us to convince him to send word to me when you returned from your mission.” Dean sighs and frowns at Gabriel again. “And I had to tell him _why_ I wanted to talk to you to get him to summon you to this hut.”

As if he has no care in the world, Gabriel shrugs and reclines amongst his pillows. Thankfully, he keeps to their agreement and says nothing. Cas, on the other hand, looks as though he’s about to object. Dean doesn’t doubt that having this conversation in front of his Chieftain is both uncomfortable and unexpected, but they _need_ to have this talk – if only to give Dean the chance to move on.

He starts pacing back and forth, moving and speaking to get Cas’s attention back on him. “Do you have any idea what it’s been like since you left?”

Dean chances a glance at him and all Cas does is shake his head. “I only heard about the recent attacks when I returned from my mission. At the same time I was told that your guards have been more than satisfactory in that regard.” He hesitates before continuing. “But – Have you been alright?”

What a weighty question that is. As he shoves a hand through his hair, Dean shrugs and continues his pacing. “There have been some close calls, but that isn’t what I’m here to talk about.” If there are no scars, then it is nothing worth mentioning. He turns sharply to Cas, eyes narrowed angrily. “You _left_. You get that, right?”

“I’m aware.” That is shame in Cas’s voice. Heavily veiled, but still there. It inspires Dean to press further.

“You said you were never going to leave me.” His voice drops into a hiss of a whisper as he steps into Cas’s space again, nose to nose. “Do you remember that, _Castiel_?”

Perhaps Dean is being a bit too cruel to start with, but he has half a year of pent up frustrations and hurt to vent. He feels simultaneously pleased and upset with himself when Cas looks away – the closest thing a flinch he can likely get with words alone. But now that the flood gates have been opened, Dean finds it difficult to stop his words. “How about when you promised that you would be there to help me with my son? What about that one?”

A muscle twitches in Cas’s jaw but he still remains silent. The quiet reminds Dean of the first half this year and he hates it. He came here to talk _with_ Cas, not simple talk _at_ him. Angrily, he shoves both hands through his hair and starts pacing in all directions again, barely able to contain his displeasure. “I’ve gone over the answer you gave me more times than I can count. I couldn’t _stop_ thinking about it and it was eating me alive.”

He’s spent so much time thinking about this – thinking about _Cas_. It’s exhausting and Dean’s shoulders slump. His hand runs over his face while he chooses what to say next. “Lisa even said she didn’t want to be around me. She said that my anger was affecting Ben before he was even born.” That had not been a fun day. “Did you know that both of them – Lisa and Sam – Did you know that they both blamed me? They said it was _my_ fault that you left.”

Cas’s voice is barely more than a croak when he finally decides to use it. “That’s not true. The decision was my own.”

Like a wound that never closes, Dean’s chest aches with the same pain of that night. “But you _left_ because of what I told you, didn’t you?” He turns to Cas now, eyes wide and hoping that he won’t confirm this for him. “Would you have still chosen to leave if I had never said anything?”

His hopes are dashed against the rocks of Cas’s silence and Dean takes a deep breath, trying to calm himself again. “Of course it was my fault. I figured that much on my own when you told me you were going to leave.” Everything is always his fault. He was the problem child for Cas in the beginning, and again right now in the end. That’s what this is, isn’t it? An end. If he’s not careful with his words, he will ruin everything _again_.

“Lisa knew without having to be told. Sh’es the one who convinced me to take my chance with you. Her and Sam – they’re the only ones who ever knew how I –” No. He can’t say it to Cas again. Not right now. “Sam never knew that I told you how I felt. I had to explain everything to him, and when I did he opened my eyes to something I hadn’t realized before.” Trying to calm himself isn’t working. Why didn’t he see the difference in Cas’s words sooner? “And do you know what that was?”

Again, Dean is met with silence. The most surprising thing about that is that Dean is starting to be unsurpised by it. He sighs and continues. “He pointed out that you never said that you didn’t love me back.” His hand goes to the pendant again and Dean squeezes it tightly. “You said that you _can’t_ return my feelings, not that you _don’t_.”

Slowly, Cas closes his eyes. Does he understand now what Dean is trying to explain? Cas takes a deep breath and his voice stays steady when he speaks. “You left your kingdom and your newborn son to quibble over semantics with me?”

“Lisa was the one who told me to come.” Dean squares his shoulders and hardens his glare again. “Answer my question, _Castiel_.” Maybe using his full name will make Cas understand how important this is to him.

Again, Cas frowns – but for what, Dean doesn’t know. “My apologies, your Highness, but you never asked me a question.”

His lip curls. “ _Fine_.” If Dean has to write it out plainly for Cas to understand, he will. “Let’s start with _why_ did you leave?”

Cas swallows thickly and licks his lips before he answers. “Because I couldn’t love you.”

“ _Couldn’t_.” Dean frowns, comparing them to what Cas said before. “So, you really _don’t_ love me?” He prays that he’s wrong.

“That’s not what I said, my Lord.” Cas shakes his head and Dean’s heart soars.

Even though his glare softens, Dean lets nothing else of the swell of hope in his chest show on his face. “Then spell it out for me.  Since I’m obviously not understanding this, _explain_ it to me.”

Why Cas looks to Gabriel then, Dean doesn’t know. But he sighs heavily and looks a little hopeless. Is the reason why Cas says he _can’t_ return his feelings so obvious? How come Dean has so much trouble seeing it? Is he _that_ blinded by how much he loves Cas – despite the sea of anger and hurt he feels toward  him right now?

The bitter tone to Cas’s words surprise Dean and, judging by the look on Gabriel’s face, him too. “I’m _Aladaï_ and I was your _servant_.” He turns to face Dean so sharply that he takes a step back on instinct alone. “And that is leaving aside the fact that I’m quite obviously _male_ and that your people keep their homosexuality in the shadows because you allow a Church to preach that love between certain people is a _sin_. With that in mind, do you _really_ think that your people would _ever_ accept me as your lover?”

Dean tries speaking, but his mouth moves without words. Sam was right. He was right about _everything_. Dean wasn’t too blind to see it. He was too _stubborn_ to accept it. “So, that _is_ the problem?”

“There is no _problem_.” Cas sighs and shakes his head as he turns away. “I thought things _through_ and leaving was the only option with the least amount of risk to your throne or your life. It was my training as an Aladaï that kept you safe and you’re lucky that there wer other Aladaï that I was able to assign to your protection. They’ve been doing a fine job in my stead.”

That’s not good enough. “But you _left_.”

“I left to _protect you_.” He hisses the words and Dean’s heart nearly stops as Cas steps toe to toe with him, eyes flashing with hurt. “It doesn’t matter what I want or who I love. I had to think about what was best to keep _you_ safe because your safety has and _always_ will be my highest priority.”

If possible, Dean thinks he might actually fall in love with Cas a little bit more in that moment. Aside from Ben’s birth, right now is the happiest Dean has been all year. Cas all but flat out said that he loves him. That’s more than Dean had ever hoped to leave this camp with. But learning this is nearly as upsetting to him as the night that Cas announced he was going to leave.

There are so many walls between them now. Hurdles that need to be climbed and removed from their path if Dean truly wants Cas to be his. The difference that Dean sees which he believes Cas doesn’t is that these are things that _can_ be changed. His mind is already working, already plotting and planning ways to get around every issue Cas just brought up.  With his thoughts occupied, Dean’s body moves on its own and for the first time today, he actually touches Cas.

His fingers close around Cas’s wrist and something _right_ slides through him. It’s been far too long since he so much as touched his arm and Dean missed it. He missed the unhindered proof that Cas is very much alive and _here_.

“Come back with me, Cas.” Dean whispers. There’s enough forgiveness in his heart now to use the name _he_ gave him. “Come home with me and we can keep working it all out together. I can give you status so you won’t be a servant anymore. I always planned –”

“I know what you planned.” Cas murmurs quietly, interrupting him as a sadness filling his face that breaks Dean’s heart all over again. He steps away slowly and pulls his wrist from Dean’s grasp. “But I’m sorry, your Highness. I will need to decline your offer again.” As Dean opens his mouth, Cas bows to him stiffly and turns to Gabriel. “Sir, may I please be excused?”

No. _No_. These are things that can be fixed. They’re things Dean can make right and Cas can come home with him. He can’t leave here without him. He can’t do this a _second_ time. “Cas – don’t – I’m the _King_. I can make it work. I’m already –”

The paperwork was already underway to promote Cas to a position well above servant. Dean had started on that the moment he became King. These are things Dean _can_ change. These are things that shouldn’t stand in the way of Cas continuing to be able to carry out his duties as Dean’s guardian. It shouldn’t matter that Dean would just as willingly put his life on the line for Cas as Cas would for him. He knows that defeats the purpose of having a protector, but how could he ever let Cas get hurt in front of him – and _for_ him, on top of that?

His please go ignored. Cas never takes his eyes off Gabriel while he waits for an answer. Dean looks too, hoping that perhaps the Chieftain might see his side of the matters and possibly tell Cas that it would be better for him to come home with him. _Better_ might be a relative term at this point, but now Dean knows that Cas loves him. How can he possibly ever leave without him at his side?

Any amusement that Gabriel had found in this before is gone. He’s watching them both with a calculating stare that sends chills down Dean’s spine when it rests on him. “Is this going to affect our peace treaty? IF you’re planning on revoking it because of this, I can just _order_ Castiel to go with you.”

It’s a tempting offer, but there is no possible way Dean could ever accept it. His shoulder slump in defeat. “No. I’m not going to make Cas do anything he doesn’t want to do.” He could never do that to him, no matter how badly he wants to be with Cas.

“Fine. You may go, Castiel.” Gabriel gestures toward the curtain before he stops mid motion. “Unless his Majesty has anything else he would like to discuss with you?”

“No.” Dean sighs and rubs a hand over his face, suddenly feeling very tired. This was one of the outcomes he had expected, but that makes it no less painful. “I’m done.” He should just accept that being with Cas is the one thing he can never have. That thought makes him laugh; a small, bitter, sad little sound. “A King can have anything he desires except for the one thing that he _really_ wants.”

He would trade his crown and all his fortunes if it meant he could be with Cas. Sam can have the throne. Dean would readily move to the Aladaï lands at a moment’s notice if it were at all possible. But it’s not. He has too many responsibilities – both to his family and the kingdom. Sacrifices need to be made and, in this case, it’s his heart.

“That feeling is not only for a King, Dean.” Cas’s soft whisper almost goes unnoticed.

It’s been far too long since he heard Cas say his name, and it is _devastating_. Dean feels the rocky, fragile pieces of himself that he has built up again over this half year fall apart all over again. Does that mean that Cas wants him too? Is he hurting as badly as Dean is by being forced into a decision he doesn’t want to make? The pain reflecting Cas’s eyes when Dean looks up is all the answer Dean needs. All it takes is that one look to bolster Dean’s determination again. Cas _loves_ him too, and Dean will be damned if he’ll let something like politics stand in their way.

With a quiet goodbye, Cas turns away and it takes all that Dean has to keep himself from going after him. He needs to exert self control here if he wants to bring Cas home later. Already his mind is grinding away with a plan, gears turning quick as he analyzes all of Cas’s reasons for why they can’t be together. Those are things he can – he _will_ – change. It may take time, but he will do his best to erase those challenges. And then – maybe then – Cas will come home.

“May I offer you a word of advice, my Lord?” Cas pauses at the entrance to the hut, the blanket caught in his hand while he looks over his shoulder. “If you’re planning to continue to grow out your beard, you should not let it get any longer than the nail of your thumb. Like your hair, it would just be something else for an opponent to grab in a fight. That’s why most Aladaï are clean shaven.”

Absently, Dean touches his jaw. He hadn’t even thought of that. “Oh.” A shiver of heat crawls through his chest and a sad smile comes to his lips. “Thank you. I’ll keep that in mind.” Even though Cas is walking away from Dean for a second time, he still only have what’s best for him in mind.

Cas bows his head once more and ducks out through the curtain. It falls back into place and Dean can only stare at it while he rubs his beard and thinks. It’s early enough in the day that he can’t justify spending the night in the Aladaï camps when they could probably make the border by nightfall. But travel plans fall under the jurisdiction of his guards. All Dean can bring himself to care about right now is making a list of the things he needs to deal with.

First the Church. That would be the hardest thing to handle and there is much to think about regarding it. If the Church didn’t preach about how the love between two men is a sin, would Cas be coming home with him now? The problem about his status is the easiest to fix and the Aladaï are more accepted now than they were ten years ago. It’s only getting better now. It might take time, but these are all things that are in Dean’s power to change.

If it means he could have Cas come home, if it means he can finally _be_ with Cas, then Dean will remove all obstacles in their way. Because Cas just – Cas does love him. He doesn’t believe they can be together but he _does_ love him. And for Cas, for that love, Dean will do anything and everything.

*

Dean reviews the sentencing order with careful eyes. The woman’s criminal history is long and sordid, stretching back straight into her childhood. It’s a mystery to him how she hasn’t been caught before, let alone lost any limbs. To his knowledge, very few thieves make it to her age with all their fingers. She was only caught by a stroke of luck – for him, not for her. The next time she decides to pick-pocket a King, she should make sure there aren’t two Aladaï warriors watching him like hawks.

It was Gadreel who got the list of her wrong doings out of her, if only to help Dean decide what to do wit her. Truthfully, an excecution is what should be required of him, but there is more on this list that catches Dean’s eyes. He doesn’t know how or why the thief thought it was necessary to tell that she’s had sexual relations with women before she gave her sword, but it plays in his favour. And it is why he hides the list from his councillors. It’s why he sends the jailor to the kitchens in the middle of the night for a hearty ale and a good meal, giving him the chance to slip into the thief’s dungeon cell while Sir Benny stands guard outside.

The torch light only makes the thief’s hair burn all the more red. She sits in a corner of the room, wrapped tightly in her cloak with the chains of her manacles trailing out from underneath it. Her eyes never leave Dean as he enters the room and sets about lighting the torches resting in the sconces fixed to the wall, brightening the room.

“Don’t tell me the King has come to kill me himself.” She drawls, sounding far more morose than she must mean to. “Is that the honour bestowed to me for trying to pilfer his purse?”

“There was nothing in my purse for you to steal.” Dean explains distractedly, his thoughts already working past this conversation and how he might be able to use this thief’s skill.

What little money Lisa allows him to carry on my person when he leaves the castle had already been given to a pair of begging children on the streets. He had made sure to have Sir Benny escorted the children to market to purchase food before they were taken home, to ensure that no one tried to rob them on their way.

But that is not why he is here. “The records my men were able to drag from you did not include your name. What is it?”

“What business is it of yours?” She answers with a haughty tone and turns her head away. “He asked for my crimes and having a name is not a crime. If I’m going to be executed for all that I’ve done, then you need neither my name nor anymore of my history.”

Interesting. Does that means she views her attraction to women as a crime? Is that a personal view or one imposed on her by the Church? Dean adds these questions to his growing list as he draws a stool from beside the door over to where she is hunched on the floor. “Would you prefer to sit on this? I’m sure it’s much more comfortable than that stone.” When she narrows her eyes at him, he shrugs and steps away. “If it will make you relax, I will swear to you on my son and my crown that I am not here to kill you. I’m merely here to talk.”

Carefully, the thief gets to her feet and moves to sit on the stool. She looks moderately more comfortable, but no less suspicious. “Charlotte. My name is Charlotte, but I prefer to be called Charlie.” After a pause, she tilts her head. “Why aren’t you going to kill me?”

“You’re a very good thief.”

“Are you here to tell me things I already know?”

A wry smile lifts the corner of Dean’s lips as he paces the room. She’s sassy. He likes it. “I’m here to inquire about whether or not your skills are applicable elsewhere. How are you at spying?”

“I’m very good at it.” Charlie tosses her hair over her shoulder as she straightens them. “I would almost say that it’s a side business of mine. I know how to go unnoticed, or how to ask the right questions. If you knew the things I knew –” She pauses and looks back at him, eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Why? Who does our dear King need to spy on?”

“Everyone.” Dean comes to a stop and drops his voice into a grave whisper. “If you want to leave these dungeons alive, then you will consider my offer with all seriousness. I will expunge your entire record and put you in employ of the King – giving you a free pass in the _entire_ country – if you accept.”

Interest fills Charlie’s face and she leans forward. “You have my attention.”

*

When the blade bites into his side, Dean barely has time to notice it. As long as it doesn’t _feel_ deep, he can keep fighting. Truthfully, though, he has nothing to compare it too. When it comes to fighting, Dean has never had anything more than a few glancing blows that never even scarred over. In fact, at first Dean feels nothing. The pain doesn’t blossom across his ribs until he realizes that the assassin’s blade pulls away with blood along its edge.

Sir Benny falls on the attacker before Dean can do anything else. He removes their arm before he takes their head as Dean staggers back, a hand going to his side to press against the wound. Dean hisses and winces through the pain when Sir Benny grabs his arm to keep him on his feet. It gives him the chance to look around again. There were four assassins this time – the most he’s had to handle in the last year. No one ever sent more than two before and never this highly trained.

Four was almost more than they could handle. Dean has rarely ever had to actually draw his sword and defend himself as well. As it turns out, the Aladaï chosen to replace Cas were not as skilled as Cas was when they were traded to the kingdom and they’ve been practicing more in Lowlander fighting styles since then. Despite that, they still retained some of their previous training and have been better fighters than Sir Benny.

To Dean’s horror, the advantage the Aladaï had over Sir Benny has not benefitted them today. One of them is dying on the ground and Dean feels too disoriented to be able to tell whether it’s Ezekiel or Gadreel. Whichever of the brothers it is, he is bleeding profusely from the chest while his twin kneels next to him and tries to apply pressure to the wound. It looks like a straight stab that could have gone through his back, broken through bone and tissue. It’s the kind of wound that one does not recover from, but Dean still stumbles forward to try and help.

It’s Sir Benny’s hand that keeps him from getting closer. He’s pressing his palm over Dean’s own wound, his gloves soaking with the blood that Dean can feel dripping down his side under his clothing. In the time it takes the healers to arrive, Dean is forced to stand and watch one of his guards die at his feet. When he takes his last breath, Dean feels the loss keenly – more so because he never got to know him.

As it stands, Dean hardly knows Sir Benny or the surviving brother. Over the last year he’s been so withdrawn and focused on _himself_ that he never made the effort to get to know his new guards like he knew Cas – not even after a year together. He knows their names, but he never knew if the had wives, or lovers, or what their favourite foods or colours are. While the healers tend to him and seen to the bruises of Sir Benny and the surviving Aladaï, all Dean can do is stare at the body of one of the brothers and fail to remember the last time he had an actual _conversation_ with him.

Once he is able to stand, Dean approaches the brothers. “Tell me what you need.”

Ezekiel – or is it Gadreel? – looks up with tears in his eyes. “My Lord?”

“Castiel never taught me how Aladaï mourn.” Dean tries to go to his knee to be on his level, but he winces and has to stay on his feet. “Tell me what you need and I will see to it that he has a funeral fit for a Chieftain. Your brother deserves nothing less.”

“Thank you. Ezekiel would have –” Gadreel looks down and rubs the sleeve of his doublet over his eyes. “That is very kind of you, your Highness.”

He can’t imagine what it would feel like to watch Sammy die like this, unable to stop the bleeding. A deep sorrow fills him and Dean looks to his feet. “I am sorry for your loss. Take your time to grieve and make any arrangements you need.”

Gadreel nods, but he says nothing more. Gently, Sir Benny takes Dean by the elbow to lead him from the room. It needs to be cleansed before he can even think of using it as a secondary work room after the council room. The adrenaline of the fight is stealing what energy Dean had left and for the first time in a long time, he _wants_ to sleep.

But first, Dean needs a bath and he knows that Sam is going to find him as soon as the news of the attack has reached him in the library where he’s studying. It’s likely that Lisa will show up with Ben soon, to prove that he is alright – and perhaps to give him a sense of normalcy again. Which, when he comes out of the bath later to find them there, turns out to be very much appreciated. It’s nice to be reminded that the people he loves are alive and well – though he has no update on Cas’s well being.

The worst thought Dean has in the days that follow, as he feels more and more exhausted with every hour that passes, is that he’s glad it wasn’t Cas. If Cas has ever been wounded that badly – if he had _died_ in front of Dean like that – he’s not sure what he would have done. Just the thought of it chills Dean to his bones. It inspires him to write a letter to Gabriel to ask how things are going. If he wrote the letter to Cas, Dean suspects that he would not respond.

He never sends the letter. By the time he sits down to read it, a few days have passed since the attack. No sooner has he dipped the quill in the inkpot does his vision start to swim. Dean figures his lack of sleep over the last year must be catching up with him and he makes no mention of it to anyone. He does his best to work around it, walking closer to walls to keep himself oriented rather than stumbling along the halls unsure of where he is going.

Sir Benny starts giving him odd looks whenever Dean trips over his own feet and especially while he wavers while standing. Dean ignores those as best as he does everything else, continuing about his day to have the last of the assassins executed and getting back to regular life. He blinks away anything wrong with his vision and takes more shallow breaths when deep ones hurt his chest. It feels like someone has taken his ribs and knitted them together, pulling them tight and making every breath and every movement hurt.

The only thing that Dean can’t ignore is the one thing he isn’t even aware of.

One morning, Dean is in the middle of discussing with one of his councillors about creating a position for an ambassador from the Aladaï while thinking about meeting with Charlie later that night. And then the next thing that he knows, Dean is opening his eyes to the ceiling of his bedroom with the distinct sense that an unknown amount of time has passed. He can barely think let alone guess at how long it’s been. His brain has been pulled from his head and replaced with handfuls of cotton-like clouds.

Focusing on anything feels like an impossible tasks. When he moves his hand, it’s like moving through molassas. It feels heavy and he hardly has the energy to move it. Dean rubs his eyes and tries to ask if anyone else is in the room. He has no clue if the words are even properly formed and make any sense. What he _does_ know is that his throat feels dry and like it’s lined with spikes and every breath leaves his lips on a wheeze.

The sound of pouring water catches his attention and Dean reaches for a cup of water immediately. He blinks away the fog in his mind and his spirits lift slightly when he recognizes Sam as the one who hands the cup to him. There are people standing behind him, but Dean can only focus on one face at a time, not even bothering to look at anyone else as pillows are brought to help prop him up in the bed. As soon as he is comfortable again, Sam helps guide the cup to his lips and Dean takes small sips of the water, his throat too sore to gulp it.

When the cup is lowered, Dean smiles weakly at the familiar faces around him. He can guess easily enough that Lisa is the one standing next to Sam. Who else would be holding a squealing child? Sounds are just as muddled as his vision, but Dean can’t help smiling when he recognizes the noises Ben makes when he’s referring to him. His hand trembles while he reaches out for Ben, but his smile only grows when Lisa leans in to bring him closer and Ben squeals as he grabs at his fingers.

“Hey, little guy.” Dean rasps, his voice rougher than usual.

He doesn’t know how long it’s been, but it feels like he hasn’t seen Ben in ages. When he looks to Sam and Lisa, relief is obvious in their faces. That only heightens Dean’s concern. “What happened?” He blinks between them, trying not to move too quickly or he fears he might make himself sick. “What have I missed?”

Sam shares a look with Lisa. “What’s the last thing you remember?”

“Having the assassins executed and speaking with the council about the possibility of an ambassador from –” Wait. He shakes his head slowly and frowns. “Why?” Has he lost more than a day? He must have passed out from stress or lack of sleep or _something_. It can’t have been something to make them _this_ worried about him, right? Though it would explain why he appears to be nearly naked in his bed. Clothing would have gotten in the way of keeping him clean.

Lisa lowers herself to sit on the edge of the bed, bringing Ben closer and Dean has the chance to let his arm drop. It feels like a dead weight at his side now. “The assassins attacked nearly a fortnight ago.” She explains quietly. “You’ve been unconscious for half that time.”

Before Dean can ask any questions, Sam leans forward to continue the explanation. “It was a poisoned blade. The healers didn’t even know. They assumed it was an infection and you only fell sick from the strain of being wounded.” His voice drops into a quiet whisper and a chill runs down Dean’s spien. “You were at death’s _door_ , Dean.”

“Poison?” He looks between them both, frowning more. How had it never occurred to him to think that his problems before he passed out were the after effects of _poison_? What happened afterward? How did he survive? There are so many questions and Dean wants to ask them all, but he’s not sure he has the energy to voice them.

“The one who saved your life could explain things better than us.” Lisa tilts his head to the corner of the room Dean can’t see, hidden by the curtain panels that have been drawn back to the head of the bed.

At first, Dean thinks they’re going to make him move to see which of the healers was able to pull him back from the brink of death. But then Sam reaches out and tugs that person into view. Dean’s chest seizes with surprise when he realizes that it’s _Cas_ standing there, doing his best not to stick out like a sore thumb as the only Aladaï in the room.

His first reaction is happiness, because they are most definitely in the kingdom and Cas is _here_ again. Almost immediately, that joy shatters and Dean forces nothing to show on his face. Why should he be happy that Cas is here? He’s just going to leave again. Now he feels tired _and_ sad – and he wants none of that to show. Even if Cas is worried for him, he won’t be staying. Nothing is fixed yet for Dean to be able to ask him to stay.

“ _Castiel_.” The least Dean can do is acknowledge that he recognizes him and that the poison didn’t completely make a mess of his head. He isn’t expecting Cas to actually _flinch_ from the hollow sound of his voice and briefly look nervously to Sam.

No, he can’t look. He doesn’t want to look at Cas again when he says he’s going to leave again now that Dean has more or less recovered from the poison. His heart can’t take it. Dean stares at the end of the bed and his hands shake as he curls them into loose fists in his lap. They don’t have the strength to do anything more than that.

Cas is eerily silent aside from the rustle of clothing. Dean’s curiosity wins out and he glances back carefully to see what Cas is doing. An involuntary, unhappy sound punches out of his chest when he sees Cas is bowed on one knee again with his head lowered. A rough cough follows the noise and it makes Dean’s chest ache even more. He readily accepts the cup of water Sam holds out to him again. It soothes his throat but everything burns and his head is ringing from the coughing.

To his horror, Cas is still kneeling when Sam steps away again. “Don’t do that.” Dean hisses in frustration, his voice far rougher than before. If he didn’t feel as though he was being pulled in so many different directions right now, he would be worried about the damage the poison has done to him.

But still, Cas doesn’t move. Sam looks to Dean in confusion. “What’s going on?”

Of course he’s never seen Cas act like this – not since they were very young, at the least. But Dean has seen Cas do this before. He’s seen him act like a _servant_ and he still hates it. “Stand _up_ , Cas. For God’s sake, you have my damn _permission_.”

When he stands, Cas’s face is carefully pulled into an expression of neutrality. He spares a glance for Lisa and Sam before he looks to Dean again. “I’m glad to see you awake, my Lord.” His voice is soft, but formal and diplomatic and it doesn’t feel like _Cas_ to Dean. “You had everyone very worried for some time there. It will be a –”

He sighs loudly, interrupting Cas. This feels wrong. The air in the room is tense and nothing feels right. It makes Dean feel worse than he already does. Whatever Cas is doing right now feels like a farce and Dean can’t allow it to go on for any longer – otherwise it will only upset everyone.

“What are you doing here, Cas?” Dean settles heavily into the pillows and looks up at him with a weary, miserable sigh. He nearly died and now he has to accept that Cas is going to leave him a _third_ time.

Again, Cas looks to Lisa and Sam. It’s almost as if he’s turning to them for advice on what he should do or say. That feels like another knife in Dean’s side. Did the poison make him lose a few _years_ rather than a few days? What dream world did he wake up in where Cas is uncertain about how to talk to Dean and he turns to someone else for help? Has their friendship been _that_ damaged by everything that has happened between them in the last year?

When they offer Cas nothing more than equally confused looks, Cas swallows and turns back to Dean. “It appears that my replacements were not as suitable as I first thought they were.”

“Thank you for stating the obvious.” He sighs again and crosses his arms over his chest. His frustrations are ebbing now, lacking the energy to continue in the face of the fear that their relationship might be forever tainted even if he manages to remove the obstacles between them being together. “What are you doing here, Cas?”

Cas shifts on his feet – the closest thing to fidgeting he usually gets. It catches Dean’s attention. “Your safety has always been my highest priority, my King. And if I am the only one who can keep you safe, then I –” He pauses to takes a deep breath, steeling himself for something that has Dean’s curiosity building. “Then if you’ll have me, I would like to return to your side.”

Impossible. Dean stares at Cas with eyes so wide that they hurt. It must be an after effect of the poison. Dean can’t possibly have heard what he thinks he just did. Against his will, hope starts to creep into the hollow spaces in his chest again. It gives way to confusion quickly. Cas wants to return? Why? Because he doesn’t think Dean is _safe_ anymore? He knew about these attacks when Dean visited the tribe half a year ago. Why didn’t he come back _then_?

His confusion gives way to anger. Every time he sees Cas, his feelings get stretched so thin. Now he’s doing it again. Cas chose to _leave_ and stay away. And now he wants to _come back_? He broke Dean’s heart. Does he expect to be welcomed back with open arms? Of _course_ Dean wants him to return, but _still_. This – This is a situation he had not quite expected.

Dean doesn’t know what to say but he opens his mouth anyways, for what little good it does him. Lisa interrupts before he can say anything, clearing her throat loudly. “In case you’re about to make a poor decision, I feel you should know that I have already asked Castiel to come home. You know that _nobody_ is more capable of keeping you safe than he is.”

It’s hard to believe that anyone things Dean really will turn Cas away. The only thing Dean opposes right now is that this decision was made without him. He struggles to sit up, glaring darkly at both Sam and Lisa. “But I’m the _King_.” And as King, _he_ has the final say.

He notices that Cas’s shoulders slouch slightly, but Dean is too focused on Sam and Lisa to deal with that at the moment. Sam merely shakes his head and places a hand on Dean’s shoulder to push him back into the pillows again. Though his hand his gentle, his voice and glare are sharp and leave no room for speaking out against him.

“You’ve been out voted.”

“You can’t out vote a _King_!” And they certainly can’t decide what is best for him without his say. There’s so much else to consider regarding Cas returning and it is all things that Dean needs to speak to Cas about. In _private_.

Lisa hands Ben to Sam, carefully moving them both out of the way just so she can lean over Dean. She has always been an intimidating force to deal with and a large part of Dean is immediately frightened. “And I am your _Queen_. You just _try_ and tell me that you’re going to endanger your life and leave Ben without a father just because youre affections have been scored and you can’t handle it.”

Even Cas winces at that. Dean can see it from the corner of his eye. His pride feels bruised by their lack of trust in him and the tone they’re all taking with him. It feels as though they’re all against him in this moment – though he has no intention of turning Cas away when his goal for the last year has been to bring him back here. At this point, it’s purely Dean’s stubbornness that keeps him glaring back at Lisa – if only so she doesn’t think that he is _this_ easy to break.

But, as all things do, Dean eventually breaks under Lisa’s will – though only he knows that it is an act. He sighs and rubs a hand over his face as he sinks completely into the pillows again. “Gives us the room.”

He doesn’t meet Lisa’s final glare before she ushers Sam out of the room, Ben balanced on her hip. Even Sam is glaring at them in warning and Dean is hardly mollified by the fact that the pointed looks are directed at Cas too. Sam’s hard stare is more for him than anyone else as he narrows his eyes and tilts his head toward Cas. It’s a silent sign that Dean reads perfectly. He’s being told to work things out and make things right.

Dean will have to speak with them all later about how they apparently don’t believe that he wants anything but that.

As soon as the door booms shut, the awkward silence in the room is palpable. He knows that he’s sulking with his arms crossed and his bottom lip stuck out, but Dean feels justified in his pout. Apparently no one trusts in him and that hurts more than he is willing to admit. As such, Dean will take as long as he feels necessary to get comfortable. It hardly helps matters that things still don’t feel as natural as they once were with Cas – and it scares Dean to think that they might never be like that again.

It takes a long time for either of them to say anything. Dean sits in silence while Cas busies himself around the room. Whenever Cas looks to him, Dean makes sure that his eyes are focused on his feet. He doesn’t want him to know that he’s watching him as he draws back the curtains to reveal the daylight. Cas stands at the doors for a long while – long enough for Dean to wonder if he’s ever going to say anything at all.

Oddly enough, this moment gives Dean a sense of nostalgia. It wasn’t too long ago that Cas would often wait silently at the side of the room until Dean was ready to speak about whatever was bothering him at the time – be it a fight with Sam, a problem with the councilors, or anything at all. Is that what Cas is doing right now? Have things actually not changed as much as he thought? That gives life to the hope still sputtering widly in Dean’s chest.

In either case, things _are_ broken and Dean has no idea if they can be fixed. Thinking about that only tires him out, but they need to talk if they wish to fix anything. Dean sighs softly, looking to Cas openly. “Why are you – What do you want, Cas?”

There must be more reasons for his return to the kingdom than just Dean’s safety, right?

“I want to return.” Cas answers softly, turning to face him again. “But as much as I want that for your safety, I will only do so with your permission, my King.”

The use of his title further frosts the ice inside Dean’s heart. He slides lower on the bed and looks away. “Don’t – don’t do that. Stop calling me that.” It’s his _name_ he wants to hear on Cas’s lips. That and only that whenever he addresses him. Is that too much to ask? Dean looks to him again, hopeful that Cas will grant him this boon. “You know my name.”

For a brief moment, Cas looks torn. Is he really considering it? Dean stops breathing as Cas closes his eyes and takes a deep breath of his own. “ _Dean_.”

It’s like a benediction. Just hearing his name on Cas’s tongue is enough to make nearly half of Dean’s worries seap away. With a content sigh, he sinks lower on the pillows until he is almost prone before he addresses Cas again. “What happens if I say ‘yes’? What will happen if you do come back?”

As much as he might hope for it, Dean knows that Cas wants to return out of a sense of duty. If Cas does it out of the love he claims he has, he is showing nothing of it – save, perhaps, for a hint of worry in his eyes. Is he worried that Dean is going to refuse him?

“I would like to return to my duties as they were before.” Cas explains as he crosses the room to sit in the chair left vacant next to Dean’s bedside. He folds his hands in his lap and keeps his eyes on them. “I will protect and watch over you, and I will ensure that your day runs smoothly.”

The only thing unacceptable about Cas’s terms is that he would be returning to Dean’s side as a servant. He wants Cas there as a friend, a confidant, an _equal_ – and as his lover, though that might be still a ways off yet. Dean has worked hard over the winter and he has gotten the gears of change turning, but it will be at least a year before any of his hard work comes to fruition.

Aside from that, Cas has failed to address one very important thing. “And are we just going to forget everything else?”

Still, Cas refuses to look at him. “That would be best. My reasons for leaving haven’t changed, but I understand that removing myself from your life was the wrong choice to make.” He looks up when Dean tries to sit up, meeting his eyes and stilling all of Dean’s movements with that one glance. “I thought that if I remained, you would only push harder for what I cannot give you. If I were to give in to the feelings that I have for you, there would be so many risks to your throne and potentially your life – so many consequences because of my selfishness. I couldn’t – I _can’t_ risk it.”

It would be easier to be angry with Cas if his side of things was not so clear to Dean now. He’s thought about it for a year now and he knows that Cas leaving was an act of love. Of course, it still hurt to be rejected and seemingly abandoned, but Deanunderstandsthat much – no matter how much he wishes that he didn’t _._ But what he is having trouble comprehending now is why Cas is bringing this all up again.

“You already told me this.” He huffs. “Why are you –”

“I’m trying to make you understand.” Cas sighs and leans forward to rest his elbows on his knees. “When I left, all I could focus on was keeping you safe from your people by removing what had become a danger to your life; _me_. I disregarded the fact that it is _my_ duty to watch over you and keep you safe. I ran because I feared my own weakness that I might not be able to refuse you again. I was a coward and I can only beg your forgiveness for my folly.”

This feels so completely surreal. It honestly makes Dean laugh – which quickly dissolves into another rough cough. Forgiveness? For all the promises Cas broke when he left? For _leaving_? For making Dean so very alone for the last year even while he was still here? There are some things Dean can forgive. He understands _why_ Cas left and he forgives him for that. But the rest? The rest is a little bit harder. He could have _said_ something before leaving. They could have _talked_ and worked things out and – and – and done _something_.

Once he can breathe again and speaking doesn’t hurt his throat too much, Dean fixes Cas with a flat look. “You don’t know that my people would –”

“Even if your people might accept that you have a male lover – especially now that you have sire an heir – how could they possibly accept an Aladaï _servant_?” Cas snaps and sits back, visibly trying to stop himself from continuing in his waspish tone. He takes a deep breath before he continues. “If you want me to return, I would be coming back as your ally – and hopefully as your friend again.”

No matter how he tries to convince himself, Dean knows that Cas has a point there. He just doesn’t want to accept it. Sighing, Cas scrubs both of his hands over his face. “And you expect me to just forget how we feel for each other? I’m just supposed to continue every day having you beside me, knowing that you want me too but never being able to touch you?”

It would be like his own personal hell. As happy as he would be to have Cas home and with him daily again, it would be extremely difficult. He would live in the ever present conundrum of _what if_. That would be _extremely_ unfair for the both of them.

Cas doesn’t seem to care. “Yes.”

“ _No_.” Dean hisses back. He refuses to accept that.

A flicker of pain flashes across Cas’s face. “Dean –”

“I said ‘ _no_ ’.” He grunts again, trying to sit up and frowning as Cas puts a hand on his shoulder to keep him down. This isn’t fair and Dean needs to make Cas see that these are things that can be fixed – that can be _changed_. They _can_ be together. “My people and the Aladaï have been allies for more than half my life, Cas. It’s been ten years of peace. If anyone has a problem with your race, then we can explain that relations between our people can only be _improved_ if you were my lover.”

He grabs Cas’s wrist and squeezes it as tightly as he can. At the moment, it’s a very weak hold. “I can fix any issues with your status too. You’ve done more than enough for me and my family to deserve a noble title. I can Knight you, or make you a landless lord. And I’ve been talking to the council about the benefits of an Aladaï ambassador. You could become a member of my court and –”

“ _Dean_.” Cas cuts him off, a flush filling his face.

It’s been a long time since Dean was last able to make Cas blush like that. Seeing it again sends a nearly forgotten feeling of warmth sliding through him. He’s starting to feel so very tired, but Dean forces himself to stay firm. That gets all the easier when Cas puts his hand over his and squeezes it tightly.

Dean looks up at Cas, sure about one thing and one thing only. “I know you care about what the people will think, but I’ve spent the last year working on everything you said was keeping you away because I want you _here_ , Cas. Here with me.”

When Cas opens his mouth to speak, Dean shakes his head to stop him. “Just – just think about it, okay? If you can honestly tell me that you want to continue being nothing more than my protector and my friend, then fine. I can live with that. I’d rather have you with me as that then nothing at all.” Even if every day will be torture. “And no matter what, I want you to be at my side not as a servant but as – well, unless you’re a King too the court won’t actually see you as my equal. But I don’t want you to have to _serve_ me anymore.”

He relaxes with an exhausted sigh. How many times does this make it now where Dean has bared his everything to Cas? If it was to anyone else, it would be once too many. Even though it’s just with Cas, Dean can feel a blush of his own rising in his cheeks. There’s more he wants to say to Cas, but he can’t bring himself to look up from where Cas’s hand is resting over his own on his wrist. What could it hurt to say one more thing?

“I’ve missed you, Cas.” Dean whispers softly, squeezing his wrist gently.

Cas’s hand tightens over his and Dean holds his breath, waiting to see if he’s going to pry his fingers from his wrist. It never happens and Dean relaxes completely. A large part of him wants to take Cas’s gesture as meaning that he missed him too. The soft smile Cas gives him is enough to make him think that’s true and Dean has no issue with loosening his grip enough for Cas to lift his hand away. His eyelids are feeling heavy now and Dean lets them fall closed. He can rest for a little while now.

Dean only opens his eyes when Cas puts a hand on his shoulder to offer him another cup of water. He manages a few sips before Cas seems satisfied. It almost feels like old times again as Cas arranges the blankets around him comfortably, tucking them in just the way Dean likes. Even after a year apart he hasn’t forgotten, and that warms the parts of Dean he thought frozen. That ice nearly evaporates when Cas picks his hand up again to squeeze it tightly.

“Are you going to stay?” He can’t help asking, even as he smiles up at Cas happily.

“Yes.” Cas murmurs quietly, squeezing his hand again. “I know I broke my word to you regarding that once before, but I will do my best to earn your trust again.” To Dean’s surprise, he bows over the edge of the bed until his brow touches Dean’s knuckles. His words are a little muffled, but Dean definitely hears them and his heart soars. “I missed you too much to be able to leave you again.”

The smile that comes to Dean’s lips then is the biggest and brightest he’s had in a year.

*

It was almost too easy to return to sleeping throughout the night. The poison had left him weak and tired for longer than Dean liked, but it meant that he got plenty of sleep. Not nearly enough to make up for all that he missed in the last year, but he has no problems with falling asleep anymore and it feels good. In all honesty, Dean _missed_ sleeping – almost as much as he missed Cas, and having Cas back and watching over him again certainly helped matters.

During his recovery, Dean hasn’t been allowed to leave his bedroom for longer than he would like. Cas has been adamant that he be at his absolute best before he gets back to work in full. Dean has made do with that. It has certainly been nice to just relax and rest and catch up with Cas. But last night, Cas told him that he’s as healthy as he’s ever going to get and he can go about his usual tasks again starting in the morning.

What Cas hadn’t told him then was that when Dean opens his eyes the next morning, he wouldn’t be wanting to leave his bed ever again.

This is the first time Dean can ever remember waking up before Cas. He’s seen him sleeping before, but never in _Dean’s_ bed. It feels like a dream to wake up next to Cas and see him almost drooling on the pillow beside to him. But this isn’t a dream. This is _reality_. This is Cas sleeping in Dean’s bed and lying under _his_ blankets with his hand folded in the front of Dean’s nightclothes. This is Cas’s answer.

Has Dean ever been happier than this? He’s having a hard time remembering a better moment.

Their hands came apart some time during the night and Dean reaches for Cas’s other again again. He rests their palms together for a moment before carefully sliding his fingers between Cas’s. His heart flutters happily at the tingling feeling that spreads up along his arm. After Cas’s answer, this is allowed to him now. Dean stares at their joined hands and wonders if this feeling filling his chest is what sunshine and starlight feels like.

Cas is _here_. He’s home, he’s here, and he’s given Dean is answer. Cas’s answer is a _yes_ and Dean can’t stop staring at him. This is _real_. It isn’t a dream – as difficult as that is to accept. Dean has had this particular dream so many times that it’s rather hard to believe that it could be anything else. Reality becomes all the more likely when Cas’s fingers tighten around his hand and his eyelids flutter as he wakes up.

This is the moment Dean never got to see in his dreams. He always woke up before it could happen. Dean never had the chance to dream up what Cas’s first smile of the morning would look like. It’s more beautiful that anything he could have ever imagined in his sleep. Cas’s smile is soft, and warm and followed by a greeting murmured in a voice rough and thick with sleep.

“Good morning, Dean.”

It inspires an answering smile to rise on Dean’s lips. The feeling – this _happiness_ – that bubbles up inside him can’t be contained. Dean reaches out to stroke his hand across Cas’s cheek, reveling in the rasp of his stubble against his skin. Cas turns his face into his palm, closing his eyes with a happy sigh. A pleasant shiver runs down Dean’s spine and he pushes himself up to lean over Cas, fully intent on kissing him. This is something that Dean has wanted to do for ages, but his joy over finally getting to do that comes to a sudden and confusing stop.

As soon as Cas realizes what is happening, his eyes go wide and he sits up quickly. The hand still fisted in Dean’s shirt tenses and pushes him back. Dean’s heart plummets. Why is Cas holding him back? Doesn’t he want to kiss him too?

He frowns, looking down at Cas’s hand then back up at him. “Cas?”

“I’m sorry, Dean – I –” Cas looks away quickly and his hand drops. He looks uncomfortable and shifts as though he’s going to get up from the bed.

Oh no. Oh, God _no_. Dean sits up properly and twists his hands in the blanket. Please, please don’t tell him that Cas is regretting his decision. If he is, Dean is fairly certain that his heart won’t be able to take it. Panic starts building in Dean’s chest and he forces himself to breathe evenly. He’s confused, hurt, worried, and trying so very hard not to just _react_ to this. Bad things happens when Dean reacts without thinking or talking first.

Some sort of panic must show on Dean’s face, because Cas looks concerned. He reaches out to cup Dean’s face between his hands. “Don’t look like that.”

“How else am I supposed to look when you just –”

“You know my feelings for you, Dean.” Cas says firmly, his hands gentle as he draws Dean to him until he can rests their foreheads together. “I would fight armies and raze kingdoms to the ground for you. If I could, I would bring you the moon and the sun and the stars.”

Was Cas always this sappy? Dean is almost certain that he has never heard Cas talk like this before. In any case, he likes it. “If there is one thing you should never doubt, Dean, it is that I love you. All I ask is that you – please, just – don’t try to kiss me.”

Any happy feelings that had managed to build up again wilt immediately. “What?”

“I’m –” He sighs and Dean can feel the air from it on his lips. It’s a struggle not to tilt his chin up to close the small distance between them for that kiss. “I’m not ready for that. Not yet. I’m sorry, Dean.”

It’s hard not to be at least somewhat disappointed by this. For Dean, it feels as though he’s been dreaming of kissing and touching Cas almost his whole life. And now Cas is telling him that he doesn’t want to do that? It’s disappointing, but it ultimately doesn’t matter to him. Cas is here and he loves him. That’s all Dean needs and he will do everything possible to make sure that Cas is comfortable. The last thing he wants to do is something that might make Cas leave again.

Dean smiles softly and pulls Cas’s hands from his face. He holds them between his and kisses his knuckles softly, thankful that apparently those are a safe space to kiss. “I understand, Cas. Take all the time that you need. I can wait.”

After how long Dean has waited to be able to have Cas’s heart, he can wait forever to have the rest of him. What Cas has given him so far is more than he ever thought he could have. Being allowed to kiss him and touch him would simply be bonuses at this point. Neither of those is needed to love Cas and be loved by him.

Cas’s thankful smile only reaffirms Dean’s decision.

*

In all their years together, Dean has never seen Cas sick. The sniffling, feverish, coughing, grumpy creature currently cocooning himself in the blankets of their bed is simultaneously fascinating and foreign to him. Dean has no idea how to handle Cas when he’s sick, but he does his best. He had to put his foot down and stop Cas from quarantining himself in another room until he is better again. After nineteen years of sleeping on his own, not even the risk of catching Cas’s sickness is enough to make Dean want to sleep alone again.

Of course, having Cas refusing to leave their bedroom means that Dean has to spend his days with Sir Benny, Gadreel, and a half dozen other soldiers. It’s a small price to pay, but Dean would rather that then have Cas push himself to do more than he should. Right now, Cas needs his rest. The most he should be doing is eating the soup Dean has the kitchen specially make for him, and drink some kind of medicinal tea he’s been brewing.

The tea is actually better than Dean expected, considering how it smells. He’s had to keep drinking the tea too since he refuses to sleep anywhere else and has been splitting his free time between spending time with Ben and with Cas. It’s a precaution to keep prevent himself from getting sick too. Dean is perfectly happy with drinking a terrible smelling tea as long as it means that he continues to get to sit next to the bundle of blankets that Cas becomes when he’s sick and run his fingers through his hair while he sleeps through most of his sickness.

This is a chance for Dean to take care of Cas and he relishes it. Cas may not be ready for kisses, but he has no complaints when Dean tucks him into bed or dabs his face with a cold cloth. He only grumbles slightly when Dean makes the bed dip by laying down next to him or when he gets up to stoke the fire. Those grumbles will turn pleased when Dean puts warmer coals in the pan that gets placed under the sheets at the end of the bed.

Quite frankly, Dean finds it adorable. In a decade, Cas was nothing if not perfect in health and this is a whole new side to him that Dean is seeing now. Even more so, Dean is finding out what he already knows. He _loves_ doting on Cas. With how independent Cas usually it, Dean never got the chance to do it before. Getting the chance now is fantastic and he plans to make the most of it until Cas is better again. And, happily, Cas seems to have no complaints about that either.

On the third day of Cas being laid up in the bathroom, Dean decides to do his readings in bed. There are several scrolls he needs to read in regards to a pending moot for the leaders of the allied countries being held next year regarding the recently aggressive actions of the Northerners. Cas has been more like himself today, though still sleepy and much more cuddly than usual. Dean likes it. If someone had told him a long time ago that Cas would sulkily seek out physical contact while sick, he might have purposefully left windows open in rooms Cas was in if only to try and encourage him to be sick.

It’s a terrible thing for him to think, but having Cas press his face into his side and throw an arm around his waist only fuels his desires for this kind of behaviour. The only time Cas will usually hold him or be held by him is when the curtains are drawn on their bed and it’s the middle of the night. Having this happen during the day is a delight and Dean wants nothing more than to stay locked in their bedroom together until Cas is better.

“That’s for me, not you.”

Dean pauses from dragging the chamberpot out from under the bed and looks up. It wouldn’t take that long to go to the latrine to relieve himself, but he doesn’t want to leave Cas while he’s sleeping. And as long as he puts the lid on the pot as soon as he’s finished urinating and calls for someone to come take it away, there will be no bad smells. The thrush filling the bottom of the chamberpot does a good job of covering that up.

“Excuse me?”

Cas turns his face out of the pillow to give Dean a blearly eyed squint. “You’re perfectly healthy and completely capable of walking to the latrine. Go use it.”

“That makes the chamberpot for _you_ and not me?” He raises his eyebrow, amused by Cas’s selfishness. This is the first he’s ever seen Cas like this.

“Yes.”

Using his foot, Dean pushes the pot back under the bed. “Fine, fine.” He could ignore him and go about his business regardless, but if Cas wants to be selfish right now, Dean wants to let him be. “I’ll be back shortly. Is there anything you would like me to bring back for you from the kitchens?”

Huffing, Cas pulls the blanket higher up his shoulders and wiggles into a more comfortable position. “No. Just come back soon. It feels colder in here without you.”

Dean leans over the edge of the bed to kpush the hair back from Cas’s forehead to press a kiss there. It’s still warmer than it should be. “I’ll relieve myself with the speed of the wind and be back to you before you know it.”

Cas merely hums and closes his eyes again. He was on the brink of falling asleep again when Dean had carefully removed himself from the bed while trying not to disturb him. His scrolls are spread across his half of the bed and Dean leaves them there while he leaves to use the latrine, a half dozen guards trailing after him as soon as he leaves the bedroom.

The bedroom is peaceful and pristine when Dean leaves.  He is certainly not expecting to come back to a chill early winter breeze whipping around his ankles when he opens the door. Dean’s eyes go to the balcony doors first, noting how they most certainly are _open_. When he left, they were closed, locked, and his scrolls were not scattered all across the floor. Most of all, Cas most certainly was not on the floor, tangled up in the blanket and fending off the assassin sitting on his chest while trying to drive a blade into his chest.

For the year that Cas was gone, Dean had gotten into the habit of carrying either a dagger or a sword on his hip at all times. Even after Cas’s return, it’s a routine Dean hasn’t been able to break. For good reason. This isn’t the first time an assassin has come after him since Cas came home. With how extremely effective Cas is as a guardian, Dean hasn’t had to draw his weapon since he was poisioned.

Today, Dean doesn’t hesitate to draw his dagger and drive it into the base of the assassin’s skull. He does it without thought and before even his other guards could react. They rush the room to search for anyone else as Dean shoves the dead body off of Cas as he kneels next to him. Cas’s face is flushed and he’s breathing hard as Dean helps him to sit up, nearly cradling him to his chest. Dean’s hands can’t hold still as he touches Cas’s cheek, his hair, his chest, his waist, _everywhere_ he can reach to make sure that he hasn’t been hurt.

There was no time to be afraid of what he walked in on. There was no time to think. Dean only had time to react and _now_ is when his heart leaps into his throat. His breath stutters in his chest and Dean’s hands shake as he clutches Cas too him, trying to calm himself down. It doesn’t matter to him that there are others in the room. His feelings for Cas and Cas’s safety are more important than anyone finding out that they’re lovers.

Since Cas fell sick, Dean has explained away that Cas has been sleeping in _his_ bed to keep a better eye on him. And, frankly, Dean’s room is far more comfortable than the (unused) closet of a room where Cas _used_ to sleep. It made sense to have him stay here, even for the people who have no idea of their relationship. No one questioned it. They already know that Dean favours Cas and that they’ve been close since he was a child, so this shouldn’t look anymore out of place than if it was Sam in Dean’s arms right now, or if it was Ben who could have –

 _God_.

Cas could have _died_. If Dean had come in a few moments later, Cas might have been killed while he was sick. Just the thgouht alone of _losing him_ is making Dean’s stomach turn and bile push against the back of his throat. His hands won’t stop shaking and his voice trembles when he finally manages to find it.

“Are you alright?” He tilts Cas’s head back to look him in the eye. “You’re not hurt, are you? Cas, please tell me you’re not hurt. I’ll –”

“I’m fine, Dean.” It’s no surprise, though it is rather unsettling, that Cas’s voice is a little unsteady too. He catches Dean’s hand and leans heavily into his chest. “I’m _fine_.”

Dean lets out a heavy, shaky sigh and holds Cas tightly. He tries to relax a little as he presses a kiss to Cas’s forehead again. It takes a short while before he can bring himself to move and help Cas to his feet. Cas crawls into the bed and shivers until a servant can bring a new set of blankets. The other has blood on it and Dean refuses to let it touch Cas again, and he absolutely refuses to leave Cas’s side long enough to get one himself.

While the guards remove the body and other servants come to clean the blood and fix the lock on the window, Dean sits on the edge of the bed and keeps his hand on Cas’s thigh. He doesn’t even pretend to read his scrolls as he waits. It’s quite obvious that that everyone is at least _thinking_ about how Dean and Cas are sitting. It doesn’t matter. All Dean cares about is getting Cas better again and making sure that he’s really is okay now.

Besides, half the castle likely already knows that he and Cas are far more than what they appear to be in the public eye. At this stage, it will have little affect on Dean’s plans. His ideas to fix everything that had Cas leave in the first place are well underway and the old Church order will soon be replaced with his new branch. Gabriel has even been in discussion with Dean about his interest in making Cas an ambassador of the Aladaï. So far, that has been going rather well. Dean can almost see the point when Cas will be able to relax about _them_. He has no clue what might happen then, but he is most certainly looking forward to it.


	19. Timestamp: To Touch (Part 2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His heart skitters to a stop in his chest when Cas’s hands press into the small of his back. “It’s alright.” He whispers into Dean’s hair. “Make yourself comfortable. I’m not going to push you away.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unedited.

When Cas was gone, Dean was alone whenever he was away from the council room. His duties as King kept him busy at the time, but they also caused a rather large amount of stress – as did Cas’s absence. The attacks that were made on his life ever other fortnight were not the best things for his nerves either. Were he a weaker man, Dean would have turned to drink. The castle’s cellars are filled with the best wines and ales in the land. It was only his newborn son that kept Dean from emptying the stores into his belly.

But even Ben’s birth and having him around was not enough to keep Dean from feeling tense _constantly._ The stress of his position weighed heavily on his shoulders and he turned to the only relief he found available to him. If the Church had ever learned of what Dean did behind closed doors, they would have likely damned their King for masturbating on a near daily basis. But it was one of the very few things that kept Dean sane while Cas was gone.

And now – _now_ it is the only thing possibly keeping Dean from pouncing on Cas every day since his return. It is an especially helpful relief during the year that it takes Cas to feel comfortable enough with _them_ to allow Dean to kiss him properly. Although he may not fully understand the reasons _why_ Cas was not ready to kiss him, Dean has been more than willing to wait. At the very least, Dean is able to get away with kissing other parts of Cas – such as his neck, his face, and his ears. That alone fuels Dean’s fantasies and his dreams.

He has always had a fairly healthy libido and would have liked to be more active when he was younger – had he not been vying for the affections of a certain Aladaï throughout those years. There is no regret there, and certainly no regrets for where his history with Lisa comes into play. Benjamin is a bright point in Dean’s life and he always will be, no matter that he is the product of a forced marriage. Dean loves him nonetheless.

But Ben isn’t the one keeping Dean at arm’s length for the last year despite sharing his bed every night. Dean has the feeling that Cas’s penchant for being physically distant might have had something to do with everything that made him leave in the first place. His suspicions are more or less confirmed by how Cas joins him in the tub while they bathe only _after_ the new Church decree has gone through. Doing that was a huge step for Cas and Dean is more than pleased with it – and with him. He may not be allowed to properly kiss Cas or even touch him in all the ways that he itches to, but this is enough.

Although, to be completely honest, having Cas start bathing with him was almost too much for Dean to bear. He was just so very _naked_ and _close_ and he had no problem leaning against Dean or putting an arm around him. Cas seemed completely oblivious to the effect he was having on Dean at all hours of the day and he has continued to at least appear as though he hasn’t noticed Dean’s more – private habits. It has been increasingly difficult for Dean to try and be subtle with his masturbating.

To be fair, Dean was not trying to be _that_ subtle. He did manage to sneak some alone time in the latrine or during a rare moment of solitube, but on all other occasions, Dean had blantantly stated that he absolutely needs to start his baths alone. It remains to be seen if Cas understands what that means. From what he can tell, Cas is either very sneaky or he simply doesn’t take any alone time the same way that Dean does. They spend practically every moment together and he honestly has no idea _when_ Cas relieves his own tensions – if he has any.

Of course, thinking about Cas masturbating certainly does nothing to help Dean’s situation at any given moment. He wants Cas is every way and he respects that there are some things that Cas just isn’t ready to give him yet. But thinking about their baths together is just as detrimental to Dean’s attempts to _not_ think about Cas sexually. Aside from the fact that Cas is naked during the baths, he is also completely alright with allowing Dean to wash his hair or rup his shoulders. He’s traced the lines of Cas’s tattoos and his scars with his fingertips and that satisfies one thing on Dean’s lifelong list of wishes he’s had since he was a child.

Unfortunately, Cas has yet to reciprocate any of the touches that Dean has given him. It’s a slight annoyance, but it’s truth. He doesn’t wash Dean’s hair and he doesn’t rub his shoulders. Which is understandable because Dean only does it by asking if he can. Dean likes to be able to give something back to Cas for everything that he’s done for him over the years, but _still_ – it would be rather nice to have Cas’s hands on his body. But maybe that’s why Cas hasn’t done it yet. He’s never been with anyone before. It’s possible that he’s nervous about reciprocating anything.

And _that_ is why Dean is waiting.

Dean is happy to just _be_ with Cas. A large part of him is more than ready for the day that Cas will be comfortable enough to kiss him properly, but at least he is still allowed to kiss the rest of him. He has become intimately familiar with every fine scar on Cas’s hands and arms. Dean knows every dip in his skin from fingertip to fingertip and everything in between. He knows every spot on Cas’s neck that will change his breathing and make him melt in Dean’s hands. And he knows _just_ where to drags his teeth on Cas’s ear to make him grip Dean tightly.

God help him, it takes everything that Dean has not to take mor than Cas is ready for. He made a promise to Cas that he would wait and he will. After all, sex is the last thing that Dean wants from him. First and foremost, what he wants is Cas’s heart and he has that. Anything else can wait until Cas is ready for it.

Despite that, Dean likes to amuse himself with pushing their boundaries. He will never outright do anything that Cas isn’t ready for, but he _can_ make offers. Sometimes he’s able to make Cas blush darkly with just his words and it is a power that Dean wields carefully – with more than a little delight. Cas is beautiful when his face flushes red and Dean does it as often as he thinks he can get away with it.

Today is no exception.

“You know, Cas, you _are_ allowed to touch me.” Dean says softly as he spreads his arms to gesture at himself. “You have my permission – not that you ever needed it.” He can’t remember the last time he ever felt embarrassed for being naked in front of Cas, but saying this makes him feel a little nervous and he likes his lips. What if Cas says he doesn’t want to touch him? “In fact, I highly encourage it.”

Cas’s hands twitch at his sides, curling into fists as he looks to the floor. “I know, Dean. Your patience has been _extremely_ appreciated, and I need you to know that I _am_ trying.”

With just a few words, Cas has managed to lift a weight of worry from Dean’s mind that he has tried not to think about. It’s been so long since Cas returned to him and agreed to be his lover but never acted upon it that there are times where Dean can’t help but wonder – what if Cas doesn’t want to? They’ve never really spoken about their physical needs. Dean has been trying to hold back on everything to make Cas comfortable. He doesn’t want to do anything that might make him regret his decision to stay.

Granted, Cas has allowed _some_ things. He makes no complaint when they stand closer together in public places than a King and an ambassador likely should. There are times when Cas’s hand will brush Dean’s when there is no reason for it, and Dean will do the same – if only because he wants to. And there was that one occasion where Dean kissed Cas’s cheek in full view of the council (although that was a moment when he had entirely forgotten that they were not alone). Cas blushed then, but he had smiled at Dean and didn’t rebuke him for being affectionate where they could be seen.

It’s a little disappointing that no one has said anything about their relationship. Dean is aware that sometimes the servants give him and Cas some odd looks, as though they suspect that there is something between teem. As long as no one appears to have any problems with their relationship, than Dean is happy. Things are going far better than he expected with the acceptance of the renovation of the Church orders and no one has opposed Cas’s new status as an ambassador.

Everything is going so well and Dean should be satisfied with that. And he _is_ , to some extent. He’s happy to climb into a tub of warm water and have Cas sit next to him. He’s happy to slide down until he can tilt his head back and rest it on the edge of the tub. He’s happy to close his eyes and listen to the fire crackling in the grate and the sound of Cas breathing next to him.

When something touches his hip under the water, skittering across it like a nervous touch, Dean’s heart jumps in his chest. He sits up and turns to Cas so quickly the water in the tub splashes over its edges. Cas looks just as startled as Dean feels. His eyes are wide for a fraction of a moment before he takes a deep breath as though he’s steeling himself. It’s a look Dean has seen time and time again. He can hardly believe what he’s seeing. Is Cas –? Oh! Cas is _trying_.

Dean moves closer eagerly as soon as Cas’s hands are on both of his hips and he gives them a little tug. He looks just a little nervous – or as nervous as Cas is able to look. Carefully, Dean turns into the space between Cas’s legs. As gingerly as he can, he lays against his chest in the same way that he does when they’re going to read at night. With his hands firmly planted on the bottom of the tub, Dean holds himself up so he’s not laying _completely_ against Cas.

His heart skitters to a stop in his chest when Cas’s hands press into the small of his back. “It’s alright.” He whispers into Dean’s hair. “Make yourself comfortable. I’m not going to push you away.”

After a moment’s hesitation, Dean relaxes against him. His arms ends up sliding around Cas’s waist. They’ve never been naked while they lay this in bed and it is _exquisite._ Cas’s skin is so warm and it’s pressing against him nearly everywhere. It’s amazing and he nearly starts rubbing his cheek against Cas’s chest, too pleased for words. A wide smile is splitting his lips and he turns his face into Cas’s chest, trying to hide it. Now he just needs to focus on other things so he doesn’t become aroused by how his stomach is currently resting on some of Cas’s more _intimate_ locations.

That is surprisingly very easy when he feels Cas’s lips being pressed into his hair. He holds his breath when he feels Cas go still too. Slowly, Dean lifts his head as his heart starts pounding harder than it ever has before. It almost seems too impossible to be real and Dean is a little fearful of actually _hoping_. Cas has never kissed him before. Dean doesn’t count the time that Cas kissed the King’s ring as part of his vows of fealty to him.

A pleasant shiver runs up Dean’s spine, chasing after the sensation of Cas’s hands as they move up his back. Cas’s hands slide over his shoulders and up his neck until he’s cradling Dean’s face between his palms. He presses a careful kiss to Dean’s forehead and it feels like a benediction. Dean’s eyes fall closed on their own accord and he takes a shaky breath. His hold on Cas’s waist tightens when two more kisses are placed to his eyelids. He doesn’t know how, but those kisses feel more confident.

More kisses are pressed to his checks and Dean shivers violently and he can barely breathe. “ _Cas_.” He hisses his name between his teeth, opening his eyes slowly.

The way Cas is looking at him now could burn Dean alive. It’s full of heat – full of love and want and happiness. If Dean was to die right now in this moment, he would do so happily. This is more than he hoped for today and it’s amazing. He actually _does_ feel like he’s going to die when he notices that Cas’s gaze is fixed on his lips. His heart takes up residence in his throat and Dean isn’t sure if he’s really breathing or not. Is Cas going to kiss him? Really? This is too good to be true.

But what if Cas isn’t ready for that yet?

“You don’t have to, Cas.” He whispers around the lump in his throat, his whole body trembling lightly. “If you’re not ready, it’s okay. This – this is more than enough. I –”

His ability to form words comes to a suddenly halt when Cas tilts his head forward and brushes their lips together in a soft touch. Anything else Dean would have said devolves into a strangled, desperate sound. It’s like a bolt of lightning has struck him and the tingling sensation of goose flesh spreads across his skin. Cas takes a sharp breath before he makes a similar sound, a shivering little gasp that Dean simply cannot ignore. Before he knows what he’s doing, Dean pushes forward and kisses Cas harder – even though it is kept no longer than a handful of the beats of his heart.

Things feel _complete_ now. The itchy feeling that Dean has had under his skin for ages now is gone. But as happy as he is, a worry slips through his mind. This was Cas’s first kiss, right? He’s waited so long to have it, that Dean can’t help but be nervous that it wasn’t good enough. Did he kiss too hard? Did he take more than Cas was ready for? He needs to know.

“Was that everything you were waiting for, Cas?” Dean is unable to bring his voice to anything louder than a whisper.

A warm, happy smile spreads across Cas’s lips and his nose brushes against Dean’s as he tightens his arms around his shoulders. “I’m not sure. We should try it again.”

 _Oh_. Well, that’s as good an answer as any and Dean falls into their next kiss with a pleased sigh. If Cas wants to kiss more right now, then Dean is _beyond_ willing to give him everything that he wants. He’ll take what he’s allowed to have until it’s not available to him anymore – not that he really expects Cas to not want to kiss him again after this.

*

One of the best parts of Dean’s day – aside from all the time that he spends with Cas – is when he gets to _kiss_ him. It’s amazing. It’s how he starts his day and how he ends it. Dean takes the kisses where he can, even going so far as to pull Cas into dark spaces out of sight where he can steal one or two. Of course, that’s _before_ Cas firmly reminds him (with a warm smile) that they’re supposed to be working or that someone is waiting for them. Knowing that only makes kissing Cas during the day all the more fun.

He didn’t think it possible, but kissing Cas only got better once they started masturbating together. At first Dean was the only one doing it. He stopped hiding what he was doing and Cas chose to step out of the room whenever he needed a moment alone. And then he chose to stay and listen, followed not to long later by staying and watching. Eventually, he stayed and touched himself too – a treat that Dean had yet to see.

Though the Aladaï are open about sex and their sexuality, Cas is more reserved. Dean finds it adorable. He never thought Cas would be _nervous_ about something like this. His coy glances and flushed cheeks only serve to add fuel to the fires burning in Dean’s belly. It’s a surprising turn of events that Dean finally gets to teach Cas about something – despite how all of his own experiences are limited to his wife and his right hand.

Having Cas masturbate next to him is amazing, obviously. But being able to kiss him _while_ one of them is touching themselves – that is nearly enough to throw Dean over the pleasured edge over and over again. It’s hard to imagine that there could be anything better than this, but Dean knows there is and he can’t wait until they’re able to share it together. That comes soon enough and Dean quickly realizes that the only thing that truly rivals his love for simply kissing Cas is when he’s allowed to actually _touch_ Cas while he’s experiencing pleasure – even if it’s not pleasure that _Dean_ is giving to him.

Tonight is the first night that Cas allows Dean to hold his hand while they’re _both_ masturbating. He’s only ever held Dean’s hand when he is having one of those occasional (and odd but interesting) times when Cas’s body doesn’t react sexually. But tonight is different. Tonight they’re both naked, they’re both aroused, and they’re _both_ touching themselves – with their hands joined between them.

Dean grips Cas’s hand tight, pleased to feel Cas do the same. It isn’t much of a surprise that Dean is the first to reach his orgasm. That on its own is no different than usual. Sometimes Cas is first and sometimes it’s Dean. Tonight it just happened to be him. As he falls over that edge and throws his head back into the pillow with a groan, he squeezes Cas’s hand as tight as he can just as he has always done before. Cas’s fingers are warm around his own and his grip turns _crushing_. To Dean’s surprise, Cas is gasping through his own orgasm almost immediately after him.

They are rarely this close together in regards to their orgasms. Dean would like to think that tonight it happened because of the connection of their hands, but he can never be sure when it comes to Cas. He’s a mystery when it comes to anything sexual and Dean is still trying to unravel him – with no small amount of delight. The shocked “O _h..._ ” Cas breathes as he shivers through his orgasm makes Dean think he just might be right. He feels even more sure of his decision when Cas lifts their hands to stare at them, his fingers trembling around Dean's.

His realization is made all the more concrete when, during every instance afterward, Cas immediately grabs Dean's hand before he even has a hand around himself. Even though Cas still rarely moves while he masturbates, his grip on Dean's hand is like a vice and it only makes Dean wish all the harder that Cas would touch _him_. What must it feel like to have those strong fingers gripping his hips; his side; his thighs; or even fisting handfuls of his hair? He may not have the length for it now, but he would _love_ to feel Cas's fingertips raking along his scalp in a desperate scramble for anything to hold on to. Dean wants to see Cas lose himself completely – no more stoic composure even while masturbating.

One day, he will achieve that.

Cas manages to surprise Dean yet again during their private moments hidden behind the curtains of their bed not more than a fortnight later. And he does it just as Dean is in the middle of building toward a much needed orgasm after the trials of today. Meeting with foreign dignitaries always leaves him a sour taste in his mouth – and especially when the meetings are with Northerners. There have been too many assassins in his life that have been hired from their lands (though it has never never been proven that they were sent by the royal family of the North) for Dean to feel comfortable in the presence of anyone representing them.

All in all, it was a stressful day and Dean wants to end it on a good note with his lover. And to start, he wants to have a nice orgasm before (or after, he isn’t picky) watching Cas rock through one of his own. His grip on Cas's hand is as tight as ever, but Dean's eyes are closed as he focuses on the burn of pleasure gathering like sparks in his gut, his heels digging into the bed as he pushes his hips up into his fist. He isn't expecting the bed to shift as Cas moves. For one horrifying moment, Dean thinks that Cas has already orgasmed without him getting to see it.

He opens his eyes to find that Cas has rolled onto his side to face him. There's a mischievous smile painted across his lips. From the lack of mess anda how heavy his erection still is, Dean is certain that Cas has yet to orgasm. Then why is he facing Dean now? What is he planning? The answer to that comes quickly as Cas pulls his hand free of Dean’s and spreads his fingers out on his stomach. It makes the muscles in Dean’s stomach twitch hard and he loses the rhythm of his hips for a moment.

Cas shuffles closer, though not nearly close enough. Dear God, Dean would give almost anything to have Cas pressed against him and feel the heat of his naked body. For now, he is very satisfied with the soft kiss Cas brushes against his cheek. He gasps and brings his free hand up to cup the back of Cas’s head to hold him in place. His orgasms are always better when Cas’s lips are on his. Dean feels dizzy from the heat of Cas’s palm on his stomach – the edge of his smallest finger covering his navel and just _so close_ to touching where Dean wishes he would.

Every kiss is taken between a panting breath and it’s all Dean can do just to do that. Little noises and soft moans slip between his lips every so often and that only seems to make Cas want more. Dean turns into toward him and Cas’s hand ends up on his hips, his fingers curling over the jut of bone. It sends shiver after shiver chasing across Dean’s skin and his hand works quickly at his erection. Cas may not be touching him anywhere else, but Dean is more than fine with that. This is more than he could have asked for and Dean reaches his orgasm with a soft sound muffled into their kiss.

The fire still burns hot in his veins when he pushes Cas onto his back, intent on returning the favour. He does nothing more for Cas than Cas did for him. He touched Dean to his limits and for his sake, Dean will do the same – though he does lay slightly closer than Cas did. Like this, he can press kisses across Cas’s shoulder and along his neck. He kisses his cheek and his lips and everywhere that he can reach.

With his hand on Cas’s belly, Dean learns that he moves subtly. The muscles under his skin contract minutely, twitching more than Dean ever thought they did – given how little Cas moves when he masturbates. It’s interesting and Dean marvels at it for as long as he can. When Cas’s hips start to twitch slightly, Dean knows that he is close. And he also knows just want to do to give him that extra push of pleasure to tumble over the edge too.

He fixes his mouth to Cas’s ear, his teeth catching on the lobe. Within moments, Cas is shaking through his orgasm with a long moan. Dean grins against his skin and slides his hand up Cas’s chest to rest against his cheek. His smile is answered in kind and Cas kisses him again and again and again.

*

It is almost always when Cas reaches the brink first that he becomes more bold. Sometimes when they’re sharing their special moments together, Cas’s hand will drift from Dean’s stomach to his chest. He likes to put his hand over Cas’s when it rests over his heart, pressing it down in place so Cas can feel how hard Dean’s heart beats for him. On occasion, Cas’s fingers will catch on his nipples and it never fails to send flames licking under Dean’s skin.

With every night or morning they spent together, Cas grows more daring. In comparison to how long it took him to let Dean kiss him, Cas takes a relatively short amount of time to do more than just this. Often he will forgo taking care of his own arousal to tend to Dean’s first. The day Cas moves his hand _downward_ , it catches Dean entirely by surprise. Cas lays closer than usual and Dean can feel the heat of his body just from how near he is. That and the kisses are more than enough to distract Dean from anything else.

His attention is quite quickly drawn straight to Cas’s hand as too-warm fingers drag across the back of his hand and brush against his erection.  Their kiss breaks with Dean’s sharp cry at the unexpected, though not unwelcome, touch. Cas looks just as surprised as Dean feels, but that doesn’t stop him. He brushes Dean’s hand out of the way and his fingers take its place. They wrap around Dean’s erection hesitantly and Dean closes his hand over Cas’s until his hold is exactly how he likes it.

Cas’s kisses become more forceful, his tongue sliding against Dean’s with a purpose. He has no control over his body anymore. Dean grabs at Cas’s wrist and arms, holding on for all his worth. His hips move as at a feverish pace, rocking sharply into Cas’s hand. It means nothing to him how shortly it takes for him to reach his release. Having Cas touch one of the most intimate parts of him brought more pleasure than Dean’s own hand could ever give him.

Immediately, Dean wants to show Cas exactly what he has done for him. He wants to give Cas the same pleasure – make him squirm and gasp and _writhe_. As much as Cas has observed him while he masturbates, Dean had done the same – to some extent. He knows how Cas likes to move his hand and he puts his knowledge to the test now. His hand moves quick over Cas’s erection, though he varies the grip just to see how Cas will react and what he likes best. It ends up being rather difficult to watch his reactions when Dean is so very focused on _kissing_ him – and Cas orgasms far too soon for anything to truly be learned in this moment.

But no matter – there will be plenty of time in the future for Dean to learn all the different facets of Cas. They have the rest of their lives, in fact. Dean can only smile at that thought as he draws the blankets around them again, settling in Cas’s arms with the comfort of his soft kisses. Already Dean is planning their next time together. He wants to find out _everything_ about Cas. He knows so much, but he feels like he knows so little. Now he wants to fill in each of the blank spots in his knowledge of Cas.

That becomes a simple matter once they begin giving each other a literal helping hand. It comes as no surprise that Dean quickly finds himself addicted to Cas’s touch – and most obviously to touching Cas. Of course, it can be argued that Dean was addicted to this ages ago, but it becomes all the more apparent now. To know that it is _his_ hand that brings Cas to orgasm every time he slides his fingers along Cas’s erection is enough to drive Dean to madness.

Cas has nevever looked more pleased with himself than whenever he manages to draw Dean’s orgasm from him with a quick hand. He knows all the right places to touch, proving to Dean that he is far more observant than he first thought. Dean doesn’t mind. In fact, he revels in knowing that Cas has a nearly unending knowledge of him. And he hopes for nothing more than to learn Cas in the same way. Because as much as he hates not already knowing all of Cas, Dean also likes it. He _wants_ the challenge of finding out how to touch Cas to make him shiver and gasp and _writhe_ under his hands. Dean wants to build upon what he already knows and find just whatwill make Cas actually _move_.

In an even more surprising turn of events, Cas does not shy away from further touching like Dean thought he would. He had thought that Cas would be slow to get any closer than using their hands, just as he has with everything else that they’ve done so far. But within days, Cas adds his preference for holding Dean from behind while they sleep. He sits behind Dean and pulls him to his chest. It all but gurantees that Dean will reach release before him, since Cas apparently has no care for his own erection when they sit like this.

Dean can feel it pressed against his lower back or sometimes even his backside as Cas pulls him close and slides his arms around him. Perhaps it’s easierfor Cas this way, because he can stroke Dean’s erection as though he were stroking himself. In any case, Dean has no complaints. He rather likes how Cas is fond of kissing the back of his neck. Sometimes he will even drag his teeth along his shoulders in the occasional nibble. One of his hands will work tirelessly in Dean’s lap while the other explores his chest, his stomach, and even dipping down below his erection to massage his sac. He proves just how much he knows of Dean’s body and he puts it to good use.

It takes so much of Dean’s willpower not to rock back against the erection he can feel pressed against his skin. He does his best to keep his hold on Cas’s knees or his thighs so he will do nothing more than what Cas wants of him. But as time passes and they continue to do this more and more, Dean can no longer refrain from his urge to touch too. For Cas’s sake, he does nothing more than what he has already done for him. Dean takes to sliding his hands along Cas’s legs, and often he will lean back against him.

Sometimes, when he thinks that Cas can handle it, Deanwill take his hand from his chest and bring it to his mouth. If asked, Dean would readily admit that he loves Cas's hands. They are every bit as amaizgin as Cas is. His hands are strong, but they are kind. Cas uses them as weapons, but they can be so gentle and caring when they touch him. They've protected Dean his whole life and they are beautiful, even with the scars and the calluses that cover them – and Dean can't get enough of being touched by them.

When he brings Cas’s hands to his lips, Dean never does more than kiss his palms and fingertips. He worshipsevery inch of Cas’s hands, but never before has he put Cas's fingers _in_ his mouth. It never occurred to him to do it before, and the day that he does it, he does it without realizing it. Dean is lost in the myriad of sensations caused by Cas’s hand moving in his lap and his mouth working across his shoulders. Without thinking, as Cas’s fingertips press against his lips, Dean’s tongue slips out to curl around two of Cas's fingers, drawing them into his mouth.

As he sucks lightly at them, the last thing Dean expects in return is a sharp bite to his shoulder. Though that is surprising in its own right, at least it isn't painful. But Dean is also not prepared for Cas's hips to actually _move_ against his own, twitching forward hard enough that Dean not only notices but he is also jostled in place. If Cas had not gone still against him immediately, Dean would have continued sucking on his fingers if only to keep feeling the hard line of Cas's erection move against his skin. But the moment that Cas goes still, Dean stops any of his own movements and silently mourns as Cas takes his hand away from his mouth.

For a moment, Dean worries that he might have done something wrong. Was this more than Cas was able to take? Is he upset with him? The questions dance through his head in a flurry of words only to go silent when all Cas does is press his wet fingers to Dean's shoulder exactly where he bit him. There is no sting or ache there, but Dean knows that it is the same place.

“Did I hurt you?” He sounds afraid – he sounds _worried_.

Dean's heart melts at it. “No, Cas, I'm fine.”

“Are you sure?” Cas asks softly as he presses a tender kiss to the same spot.

“It doesn't hurt, Cas.” He smiles at his concern and turns in place to look at him over his shoulder. “I take it that I surprised you there?”

Colour fills Cas's cheeks and he ducks his head slightly, unable to meet Dean’s eyes. “Yes, you did.”

“Did you like it?” Dean asks softly, his voice nothing more than a whisper and he hopes that he did. He certainly enjoyed the part he played in it and he would very much like to do it again – if he's allowed to.

The colour in Cas's face grows darker and a small smile lifts his lips. “I – It was surprisingly nice." He takes a breath and nods again. “Yes, I liked it.”

His heart starts beating harder and Dean takes Cas’s hand from where it rests unmoving in his lap. Slowly, and giving Cas plenty of time to stop him, he brings it to his mouth again. Dean presses a kiss to the center of his palm while he holds Cas’s gaze. “Would you allow me to do it again?”

Cas's eyes grow wide and drop to stare at Dean's mouth for a few moments. “I –” His throat works but no further words come out. “I –” He repeats as he shuffles back a little, putting some distance between them and causing Dean’s heart to skip a few beats.

Is Cas not comfortable with this? He said he liked the feeling, but was it more than he could handle now? Seeing how it is his _hips_ he is moving away, perhaps it is rubbing his erection on Dean that he doesn’t like? Sometimes it is rather hard to predict what exactly is causing Cas to be nervous. But Dean only ever wants Cas to be comfortable and he turns around to sit on his knees before him.

“Don't worry, Cas. We'll only do what you want to do.” He runs his hands up and down Cas's legs in a reassuring manner. “Would you like to try something else right now? Another position, perhaps?”

Immediately Cas looks wary and his eyes narrow slightly. “Like what?”

“Like this.” Dean puts his hands to Cas's shoulders and guides him to lay back. If he’s careful, he may be able to get Cas to relax yet again and allow them both to find their release.

Slowly, Cas slides down on the bed to lay against the pillows. While staying on his knees, Dean shuffles back with him until he is left kneeling between Cas's legs. Since they started touching each other’s erections, this is a position they haven't done before and Dean is already liking it. In this position, he can see every twitch of Cas's body and the subtle changes to his expressions. Like this, Dean is able to touch both himself and Cas, and it is _wonderful_.

Cas's teeth sink into his bottom lip to muffle a groan the very moment that Dean wraps his hand around his erection. His eyes slide closed for a brief moment before they open again. Apparently he wants to watch Dean's hands move over them both, as he gaze is unerringly focused on what Dean is doing. While he watches, Cas's fingers curl in the bed coverings and they most certainly are shaking. This would mark the first time that Dean touches them _both_ at the same time.

If he could do it without falling on him, Dean would very much like to lean forward and kiss Cas while he strokes them. But that would end up pressing them together. If Cas can’t even rub against his backthen Dean can only imagine how little he is ready to press their _fronts_ together. Dean can wait. Eventually – _hopefully_ – Cas will one day be ready and Dean is most certainly looking forward to that day. As for right now, since they're trying something new, Dean would like to see what other new things he can get them  to do – within the boundaries of Cas’s comfort.

“Will you touch yourself too, Cas?” He asks softly, eyes dropping to Cas's chest to make his point. If he is lucky, Cas might find something he likes and Dean will learn along with him.

Cas makes a soft sound and he squeezes his eyes closed. He's never been the one to touch his own chest before. It’s always been Dean doing it for him and even then he has not been able to get much of a reaction from him as he does it. To his delight, Cas does it now without complaint. His hands lift from the blankets to drift over his stomach and chest in a slow, continuous motion. Dean's eyes are fixed on them as his fingers brush over his nipples lightly, moving to all the places that he would touch on Dean if it was him instead of his own chest.

No matter where Cas touches himself, nothing seems to be garnering any sort of reaction. Dean knows this from first hand experience, but still he had hoped that Cas would know himself better – as unlikely as that is. He does this for a short while as Dean’s hands continue to work over them both. It isn’t long before Cas slowly – as if he is unsure of himself – brings his hand up to his mouth. His tongue darts out to lap at his own fingers and disappointment overshadows his eyes.

Is he trying it because he liked what Dean did? How interesting, even though it does peak Dean’s jealousy slightly. He wants it to be _his_ lips wrapped around Cas’s fingers. If he was allowed, he would put his mouth to every inch of his beautiful lover. He would worship him from head to toe. Dean muffles a groan deep in his throat at the thought, his eyes closing briefly while he imagines that. What he wouldn't give to be allowed to do that now.

“ _Dean_.” Cas’s voice is a soft rumble.

He opens his eyes again and another moan rumbles through his chest when he sees that Cas’s hand is being held out to him. A hopeful, pleading look shines in Cas’s eyes. His wishes have been answered and Dean’s heart beats excitedly inside his chest. Without further thought, Dean leans forward to take Cas’s fingers in his mouth again.

Usually, when Dean strokes him, Cas makes soft sounds in his throat so quietly that they could almost be missed. The moment Dean suckles at his fingers, those sounds turn hard and sharp as they grow in volume. They echo in the cave of curtains around their bed. Even his hips jerk under Dean's hand, pushing up into his fist.

Surprisingly, they don’t stop.  

This is the first time that he is actually _moving_ his body and Dean revels in the sight Cas makes. He loves seeing the shift of muscles under his skin. He loves the way Cas throws his head back into the pillows with a loud gasp, his whole body rocking in a never ending flow of skin. For Dean, it doesn’t matter where he is touched. It all feels good and he has yet to find a place that he doesn't enjoy having fingers skitter across his skin. Perhaps it is different ofr Cas. Maybe for him it is only his fingers and whatever other places Dean might be able to find.

It doesn’t matter. Seeing Cas lose himself like this pleases Dean more than words can say. Though his voice does not work for more than choked groans, his body can most certainly say it for him. Before Dean knows it, he has to let Cas's fingers drop from his mouth for fear that he might accidentally bite them. He grits his teeth and his hips jerk into his hands as he reaches his orgasm unexpectedly. His release paints across Cas’s lower belly and thighs. It’s the first that he’s done that and the first thought Dean has is that Cas might object.

Thankfully, Cas apparently has no care for it. He sits up and catches Dean’s face between his hands, pulling him forward into a heated kiss until Dean is spent. No sooner has he finished does Dean realize that Cas still has a way to go yet. Once this occurs to him, Dean also realizes that the hand he has around Cas’s erection has stopped moving. He rectifies that immediately and starts stroking in quick, merciless twists of his wrists.

Cas gasps and falls back to the bed. Once again his hips don’t start moving until Dean draws one of his hands to his mouth. Another loud gasp fills the air the moment Dean’s lips are around his fingers once again. It’s as his tongue is twisting between them that Dean brings Cas to his orgasm. His back arches from the bed and the muscles of his stomach tremble, hips twitching through his release. This the first and only time Dean has seen him like this and it is _amazing_.

When he is spent, Cas sags back to their bed with a drawn out sigh and lays his arm over his eyes. For the first time, Dean is the one walks to the fireplace on shaky legs to fetch the cloth sitting in a pot of water warming on the coals. He carries the cloth back to the bed, smiling at the picture of beauty Cas makes stretched out on their bedding. Even the cooling mess on his stomach does nothing to change the wonderful sight Dean considers a treat.

“Would you like me to wipe up for you?” Dean asks quietly, putting the warm cloth to Cas’s chest.

A soft hum rumbles in the back of Cas’s throat and he nods. “Please do. I’m – I’m thinking. There are things I need to reevaluate at the moment.”

He raises an eyebrow as he circles the cloth lower over Cas’s stomach. “Oh? What things might that be?” His curiosity is peaked. Dean can hardly understand how Cas can think now that they’ve finished.

Cas smiles from under his arm and shakes his head. “I’ll let you know when I’m done.”

Worry builds briefly in Dean’s stomach, inflating to press against his lungs. He quickly cleans himself too while he looks to Cas carefully. “Are they – I hope what you’re thinking about are _good_ things.”

“I can assure you that they are very good things.”

The surety in Cas’s voice qwells Dean’s fears. He leans down to angle a kiss against his lips. “Good. If you have to think about bad things, I would like you to share those thoughts with me so I can help. You’re welcome to share the good thoughts with me too.”

“In time.” Cas murmurs and moves his arm to give Dean the room to continue pressing gentle kisses to his mouth. In between them, he gestures at the soiled cloth in Dean’s hand. “Be sure to put that back in the pot for it to boil clean.”

“Fine, fine.” Dean sighs and rolls his eyes. That’s all the way on the other side of the room and it is not a trek he feels like making right now. But Cas is looking at him expectantly and he can’t disappoint him.

As soon as the cloth is back in the pot, Dean rushes to return to the warmth of Cas and the bed. He crawls under the covers, letting the curtains fall back around the bed as he takes his place next to Cas. Immediately, Cas rolls over to face him and that expectant look has yet to leave his eyes. Dean knows exactly what it is that Cas is waiting for and he could easily give it to him. But it happens to be the same thing that Dean wants right now – and it’s something he hasn’t had for the last fortnight at least.

He shakes his head and fixes Cas with a stern – though playful – stare. “It’s my turn. Turn over, Cas.”

It never ceases to make him smile whenever Cas actually _pouts_ at him. If possible, he grows more relaxed and adorable in Dean’s presence with every passing day. Despite his pout, Cas still turns over and settles easily against Dean’s chest as he tucks himself to his back. He even sighs happily when Dean presses kisses to the back of his neck and rubs his nose into his hair.

“Don’t sulk.” Dean murmurs against his skin. “You like this just as much as I do.”

“But I like holding you more.” Cas mumbles back, wiggling to get more comfortable. “It’s easier to protect you when I’m shielding you through the night.”

Another smile comes to his face and Dean almost laughs. “Yes, but I like holding you too. I promise that I won’t complain as much if you let me hold you once in a while.”

Humming quietly, Cas slides his hands over where Dean’s are wrapped around his waist. “You’re lucky that I enjoy being held by you. Now go to sleep. We have Lisa’s birthday ball tomorrow and you’re expected to dance with her.”

Oh wonderful. Dean had happily forgotten about that. So many people are going to be here and he’s going to be expected to speak to almost each and every one of them. He groans and pulls the blanket up higher over their shoulders. “Fine. But I’ll only do it if I get to dance with you too.” That is a sight he has never seen before.

“I suppose that’s possible.” Cas huffs and glances over his shoulder demurely. “I know your dances but I’ve never tried them myself. I might step on your feet.”

“I look forward to it.” Dean laughs and sits up just enough to give Cas one more kiss for the night. “You’ll do fine. You have nothing to worry about with me as your partner.”

The smile Cas gives him radiates warmth with the strength of the sun as they both settle under the blanket again. “Then I look forward to it too.”

His chest feels as though it is fit to burst with how full of joy it is. Dean can only smile as he holds Cas tight. “I love you, Cas.” He murmurs against his back, thanking any diety who will listen for the gift that they’ve given him.

“And I, you.” Cas whispers, pulling Dean’s hand to his lips to kiss it once more before the peaceful silence settles around them.

*

Compared to how slowly Cas has taken with taking the steps for their sexual relationship to grow, whatever it was that he needed to _reevaluate_ is finished rather quickly. Dean has no idea what it was Cas had to think about, but he does his best to give Cas the space to do his thinking. He isn’t expecting to be woken up not more than a few days later with teeth scraping across his jaw and a gentle whisper telling him to wake up.

Now _this_ is a far more enjoyable way to be woken up than usual. Normally, Cas will shake his shoulders to wake him, or push the curtains open to use the light to blind him. This is nice and Dean stretches in a languid roll of his body, a deep groan rumbling past his lips. Even well after a year later, nearly two in a few moons, the long healed wound in his side gives a tired ache. It happens every so often and it’s easily ignorable – especially in favour of turning onto his side to face Cas.

“Good morning, my King.” Cas murmurs against his lips, his hand pushing up under Dean’s nightclothes to slide over his bare hip. He has long stopped wearing underclothes during the night. “Did you sleep well during the night?”

Dean hums into their kiss, barely able to contain the laugh bubbling in his throught. “Tell me, Cas, is it _still_ night on the other side of those curtains?”

“I know better than to try and wake you before the sun rises.” His own laugh vibrates against Dean’s lips. “I waited for an appropriate time, otherwise you would be more than useless.”

“I would not be.” He huffs, shoving at Cas’s shoulders as he rolls over him. In a familiar motion, Dean straddles Cas’s legs and kisses him again. “But are you _sure_ that we have the time for this? Today is a bathing day, isn’t it?”

Cas nods as his hands slide up and down his back before they push into his hair. “I made sure that we would hav the time. It’s been nearly five days. I’m surprised you’ve held out this long.” Concern shines briefly in his eyes. “May I ask why? I can’t remember the last time you went this long without touching me or yourself.”

As he sits back over Cas’s thighs, Dean pulls his nightclothes up and over his head. “Sometimes I try to give you a break.” He throws his clothing to the far end of the bed where they can be dealt with later. “I know you’re not nearly as _active_ as I am and I like it better when you’re aroused too.”

That seems to surprise Cas and he stares at Dean with wide eyes. “You don’t have to do that for me.”

“I know, but I do.” Dean shrugs as he shuffles further down Cas’s legs to help him get his trousers off. “Besides, you said you were thinking about things. I wanted to give you the time you needed for that. Have you finished?”

“I have.” He sighs softly and stretches out on the bed as Dean manages to pull his trousers off completely. “There was not much to think about. I was merely thinking about the differences in our bodies and what is considered pleasurable for you or for me.”

What is there to think about for that? Everywhere is good for Dean, but it is only Cas’s hands, his ears, and his penis that have gotten any _real_ reaction out of him. In either case, that doesn’t mean Dean will stop kissing his way back up Cas’s body. He loves putting his mouth to Cas’s stomach, and placing kisses across his chest. He likes the salty tang he can find on Cas’s neck right before he reaches his ear. It never fails to delight him when Cas’s fingers dig into his shoulders, holding on tightly as he gasps – even if his arms shake with holding himself up so he isn’t laying completely on top of Cas.

They keep a bottle on the table beside the bed now. It sits next to the candles and is filled with an oil that Dean is fairly certain they use in the kitchens. He’s not entirely sure where Cas got it, but he says its’s an old Aladaï mixture used for various things – including sex. They have yet to actually use it for sex, but it does make stroking them both far easier than just using the clear pre-ejaculate and his own spit that Dean had been using while he was growing up.

Dean pours a careful amount of it onto his palm and uses it to slick his hands as he strokes them both to full arousal. As he strokes them at a slow and steady pace, Cas smiles at him from the pillows and runs his hands up and down Dean’s arms. After a few short minutes, Cas sits up and Dean readily meets him for a kiss. Nothing wakes Dean up better than having to bring Cas to full arousal and Dean is hard between his legs by the time Cas is gasping into their kisses.

It doesn’t take long before Cas is on his back again. His back arches in another stretch as he groans and he watches Dean from under hooded eyes. He’s waiting for something and Dean isn’t entirely sure _what_. There are not many other things that they do besides this – not that Dean doesn’t absolutely _love_ this. For most of his life, Cas has done _everything_ for him. When they’re like this, Dean finally gets to do something for him. This is just about the only point in their day when Cas is content to lean back and let Dean do everything.

He gets to give Cas pleasure and Dean adores seeing him relax completely. Nothing feels better for him than getting to see Cas come apart at the seams, as restrained as he might be. It’s the _way_ that Cas looks at him that makes it all worthwhile. He watches Dean with eyes so full of heat and love that it makes it _very_ hard for Dean to hold back from throwing himself on Cas and rutting against his skin with all the fervor of his youth.

Every fiber of his being wants to be as close to Cas as physically possible. Every beat of his heart is _for_ Cas. There is nothing Dean wouldn’t do for him. No length he wouldn’t go to if Cas asked it of him. This is the man Dean loves with everything that he is, and no words could ever quantify this feeling. There is no book or scroll, no song or tale, no legend or history that could possibly encompass how much Cas means to him.

His heart is filled to bursting with the burning heat of what he feels for Cas and all Dean can do is watch Cas in silence. Each breath is quick and sharp through his lungs – as it always is. But Cas – he is much farther along than he usually is. Dean had not expected this morning to be any different from their other times, but they’ve barely begun and already Cas is struggling to breathe. He’s gasping for air already and the grip he has on Dean’s thighs is going to leave bruises.

It almost looks as though he is _surprised_ by something, though Dean cannot fathom what it might be. He can literally think of nothing about this moment that is any different than previous mornings or evening together. Is it from what Dean said before about adjusting his own sexual schedules to accommodate Cas’s? How is that enough to make Cas look like he’s completely and utterly astounded by _something_. But what is it? What _is_ it?

Dean’s heart nearly stops beating in his chest when Cas suddenly reaches up for him. He grabs Dean’s shoulders and drags him down into a surprisingly hard and desperate kiss. Immediately, Dean loses his balance and lands heavily on top of Cas before he can even think to catch himself on his hands. There is no ignoring that certain parts of their bodies are being pressed together now and Dean is torn between giving in to the moment and scrambling back to get Cas's safe space between them again.

With a near epic strength of will, Dean not only manages to share in Cas's kiss, but he also has enough sense to get his hands planted on the bed. But try as he might to push himself up, Cas simply won't allow it. He may not have been ready before, but Cas is showing that he is certainly ready now. His hold around Dean's shoulders is firm and his kisses are fierce. There is no breaking this grip – if Dean ever had the mind to actually _want_ to do such a thing.

Could it really be true? Is Cas ready to move forward again so soon? It's far too early for Dean's birthday, but he can only assume it to be such. When else would he ever be given such a wonderful gif?

Gingerly, Dean lowers himself against Cas fully. A part of him is still wholly prepared for Cas to realize what is currently transpiring and shove him off with a wild, nervous look to his eyes. But that moment never comes. As Dean stretches out over top of him, their hips aligning in pleasurable perfection, Cas’s gasp interrupts their kiss and his whole body twitches in surprise. Dean can understand that feeling well. He's never been pressed against another man like this before and he never thought it would feel so _good_. If it weren't for Cas's kisses distracting him now, Dean very well might start rocking against Cas to try and focus on the heat and friction caused by having Cas’s erection against his own.

The rough scrape of Cas's voice catches Dean by surprise as the words come in a hoarse whisper between kisses. “Don't ever stop looking at me like that.”

“Like what?” Dean barely manages to make his own voice work; a husky rasp muttered into the bare inches of space between them.

“Like you always do.” Cas's answer is profound, and simple, and wholly confusing.

It makes Dean smile. “You're not making any sense, Cas.”

Sense is not required, apparently. Cas groans into the kiss and his hands move quickly to Dean’s hips. The moment that bruising grip is fixed there, Dean moves without pausing to think. He rocks his hips against Cas, doing the only thing he can think to do. The first slide of their erections together, caught between their bellies, causes Cas to gasp loudly. His hands move again, this time to grip Dean’s backside and pull him down harder.

He may not be sure just _how_ he was looking at Cas, but Dean knows that he has stopped hiding his feeings for him. Ever since Cas become more comfortable with their relationship as lovers and with other people knowing about them, he looks at Cas as someone who loves him. There is no point in hiding the love he feels, or the wonder he has at how this amazing man could possibly want him too. This wild warrior showed Dean the world through words and taught him better than anyone Dean has ever studied under – and Dean loves him.

The best part about that is that Cas loves him too. That alone is something Dean can still hardly believe is real. It’s something he’s wanted for nearly his whole life. Every time that they touch, Dean has trouble believe that this is not a dream most days. But this is _reality_ and it will never stop being something completely _amazing_.

They fumble to find a rhythm together, their hips moving in short jerks before they find the perfect speed. Dean can barely breathe for it. How could rubbing against just another part of Cas’s skin feel better than it was to be touched by his hand? Having Cas’s erecting trapped against his own feels incredible and Dean no longer has the capacity to kiss Cas at the same time. He buries his face against the side of his neck, trying to muffle the many noises he is making while Cas is nothing more than a mess of sounds. Every gasp is a panted version of Dean’s name, choked out into Dean’s hair or against his shoulder. He’s moving more than he ever has before, rocking up against Dean in a pleasing grind. Dean digs his toes into the bedding to do his best to match him.

As he approaches his orgasm, Dean’s rhythm stutters. His whole body feels like it’s burning and it feels so _good_ – so much better than he can remember it ever being. For the umpteenth time that morning, Cas surprises him _again_. In a flurry of movement, Dean finds himself on his back with Cas above him. This time, Cas’s face is pressed against Dean’s neck, muffling the grunts and groans into his skin while he thrusts against him.

Automatically, Dean spreads his legs to give Cas the room he needs to move, even bringing his legs up until he can rest his ankles against Cas’s hips. This is what Lisa always did with him and now he can understand why. It opens everything up for Cas to rub against and Dean is quickly finding that he likes to squeeze Cas between his legs like this. Now he can hold Cas with more than just his arms and he _loves_ it. If he could hold onto Cas any more than this, he would do it.

Surprisingly, Cas orgasms first. He shudders hard against Dean, hips jerking through his release. When done, he goes still and his breath is hot across Dean’s skin. He’s actually shaking when he pushes himself up, flushed from the roots of his hair straight down into his chest. His breathing is ragged, his mouth open and panting. This is surprising. Cas is the most physically fit person that Dean knows and he looks like he can barely keep himself up on his arms.

He can feel the mess that Cas made on his stomach and Dean is about to make mention of it when Cas surges forward to kiss him again. Just as before it is hard and needy, but his hands are gentle as he lays down again and cups Dean’s face between his palms. Slowly, he starts rocking again and it doesn’t take much more for Dean’s orgasm to hit him too. Cas continues moving until Dean’s trembling has stopped. As soon as that happens, Cas sags against him with a satisfied sigh.

Dean can feel each quick breath being taken against his skin, and it is matched by his own rapid breathing. He loves everything that they’ve done before, but this was – this was definitely different. This was a new experience and Dean adored it. Though he will never admit it to Lisa, he will readily admit that everything he has done with Cas has been _so much better_. He loves Lisa, but not in the same way he loves Cas and every sensation is just so _magnified_ when he’s with Cas.

Even though Cas is heavy on top of him, Dean is happy to hold him there. He almost mourns the moment when Cas eventually lifts his head. The flush on his cheeks has changed. Now he looks embarrassed instead of aroused.

Cas takes a deep breath and looks away. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” Dean raises one of his eyebrows, confused about what he could be apologizing for.

“I – No, I should be.” He looks as though he’s going to roll oaway, but Dean tightens his hold on him. “I got carried away.”

A laugh tickles the back of Dean’s throat and he lifts his head to bump his nose against Cas’s cheek. “I am _well_ aware of that and there is is no need to apologize for it.” Before Cas can refute his statement, Dean catches his face between his hands. “Do you regret it, Cas?”

His eyes grow wide he shakes his head, moving Dean’s hands with it. “No.”

“Then there is absolutely nothing to apologize for.” Dean nods firmly and kisses the tip of Cas’s nose. “This was good, Cas. This was _amazing_.”

Cas sags back against him, sliding down just far enough to rest his cheek on Dean’s chest. He sighs happily as Dean moves his hands through his hair. “Yes, it undoubtedly was. And now I’m tired.”

“Really?” That surprises him and Dean lifts his head to look down at him. “You? The man who can run laps around every single member of my army? I thought you had unbeatable stamina.”

“If I’m tired, we can stay in bed longer.” He murmurs, the smile evident in his voice. “If I’m not, then we need to get up and go to work _after_ we take a nice hot bath.”

Well, when he puts it that way. “You’re right. You’re tired.”

“A wise decision, my King.”

Dean laughs and reaches for the blanket. His nightshirt comes with it when he pulls it up over them and Cas snags that. He pushes up just enough to work it between them to clean up the mess between them. It only makes Dean laugh again. He likes when Cas is lazy. It happens so rarely, but it is very endearing when he is. And if this is the result of them being more _active_ , then Dean is definitely looking forward to seeing Cas be like this more – hopefully.

*

As the seasons change and the leaves fall from the trees, Dean decides to see if he can push Cas’s boundaries once more. Ages ago, before Cas had even returned, Charlie had given Dean a book. It is crudely bound in leather and roughly as thick as Dean’s smallest finger is wide, though the size of it is no bigger than Dean’s palm. He has read it multiple times since she gave it to him and he is fairly sure that he has the contents memorized.

Today, he decides to give it to Cas. Even though Cas already has a book open in his lap where he is seated by the fire, Dean still chooses now to give it to him. If he doesn’t, he might lose what little confidence he has in this endeavor. They have made no further progress since that morning moons ago and though Dean has no complaints, he _does_ know – thanks to that book – that there are other things they could be trying.

He drops the book in Cas’s lap and waits for him to look up, an eyebrow raised. “Am I to assume that this is something you want me to read, Dean?”

“Yes.” Dean nods slowly and forces himself not to fidget or shift on his feet. “Charlie gave this to me and I have found it to be rather –” He pauses, looking for the appropriate word. “Enlightening.”

Cas picks the book up and turns it over in his hand, searching for a title on the leather cover that is not there. “What is it about?”

Ah, the question that Dean has been mostly dreading. He loses his nerve and starts to shifts on his feet, glancing around the room to make sure that no one is here to hear them. Of course the room is completely empty save for the two of them, but he still can’t bring himself to say it.

“Dean.” Cas says softly, bringing his attention back to him.

Why is he afraid? He loves Cas and Cas loves him. Does he really expect Cas to judge him for this? No, he doesn’t. Dean takes a deep breath and spits his answer. “It’s about how to have sex between people of the same gender.”

That catches Cas by surprise and he stares at Dean for a moment before he looks back down at the book. Dean clears his throat and tugs at the hem of his dublet. “If – If you’re ever comfortable with – I don’t know. I thought you would want to – make you could see – or you could get some ideas and we could – if you’re comfortable with it – we could –”

“Calm down, Dean.”

“I _am_ calm.” Which is an obvious lie, but Dean can’t say anything otherwise. His heart feels like it is going to burst from his chest with how hard it is pounding.

There is a table next to Cas’s chair and he moves both the books to it. He catches Dean’s hands and pulls him closer by them until Dean is standing between his knees. A soft smile lifts the corners of his mouth and he presses a kiss to Dean’s knuckles. “You certainly don’t sound calm.”

Heat is burning in Dean’s cheeks and he ducks his head. “Well, sound can be deceptive.”

“You should tell that to your heart. It’s pounding as if you were a jackrabbit.”

Dean shakes his head though he knows that it is. “It is not.”

“I can both _hear_ it and I can feel your pulse in your wrists.” Cas’s explains, his fingers pressing in just a little harder so Dean can tell where they are.

“I repeat; _sound can be deceptive_.” He shrugs and looks away, though Cas pulls on his hands to bring him down until he can kiss his cheek.

“How interesting.” The delight in Cas’s voice should be misplaced. “You’re _nervous_. Why?” Before Dean can say that he’s not, Cas shakes his head. “You can’t lie to me, Dean. What is there for you to be nervous about?”

This is more difficult than he thought it would be. Dean shrugs again and looks down at their hands. “We’ve never talked about having sex.”

Confusion draws Cas’s eyebrows together in a frown. “We already have sex.”

Well, yes, that is true. But there are other kinds of sex to try. “We have done nothing that involves _penetration_.” And the book has quite a bit on that.

“Is that something you would like to try?” Cas tilts his head, looking more curious than confused now.

Dean nods repeatedly and his heart continues with its rapid tempo. “Perhaps one day? When you’re ready for it? I just –” He takes a deep breath and leans down to rest his forehead against Cas’s. “I don’t like knowing that there are parts of you I haven’t explored yet. That book explains all the different ways we could use our mouths on each other. And there is something called _intercrural_ that involves our thighs. And there is plenty of information about how to prepare to sodomize or be sodomized. I would just like to try whatever you’re comforta – Why are you smiling like that?”

“You’re amusing.” He says simply.

“Why am I amusing?”

Cas stands, forcing Dean back a step before he wraps his arms around him his waist in a tight hug. “You’re amusing because I’m fairly certain that you have forgotten how homosexuality is far more accepted in Aladaï society than it is here.”

When Dean merely tilts his head in confusion, Cas continues. “Are you also aware that because sex is not considered shameful in our tribes and is essentially celebrated, that is part of the reason why your people thought we were animal heatens when they first met us? The other half being that we are a warrior race.”

Dean frown deepens. He feels like he knew this, but at the same time he doesn’t. “I believe they failed to mention that in my teachings.”

“That’s because your people hide your sex like you hide your dirty laundry.”

He laughs and leans into Cas’s hug to rest his chin on his shoulder. Miraculously, he feels more relaxed now. “Yes, alright, I understand. The Lowlanders are terrible and the Aladaï are amazing. Please, oh great ambassador, teach me the ways of your people.” It takes a moment for his sarcastic comment to register and he steps back quickly. “I mean – only if you’re comfortable with it. I can wait. I _am_ waiting. I’m more than –”

Cas silences him with a kiss and Dean melts into it. Nothing relaxes him more than touching Cas or being touched by him. He has no issue with allowing Cas to start backing him up toward the bed. “We’ll get there eventually, Dean. For now, there are a few things that I was witness to as part of our basic education that I could show to you now.”

If his heart had started to slow, it is back to pulsing away like a drum in his chest. This was one of the outcomes he had been hoping for when he gave the book to Cas. He has no idea what Cas will be showing him now, but he can only hope that it will be as good as he has been dreaming it might be.

*

As soon as they step into the dining hall, a high pitched squeal rends the air. Dean winces. He loves his son, he does, but sometimes when his voice is a little too much to deal with first thing in the morning when he has had too little sleep. Already his little toddler legs are carrying him quickly across the room to Dean and Cas, his short arms held out to them. He can’t help but smile at Ben, though he knows he won’t be his first target.

“Ca-a-a-a-as!” Ben waddles straight for Cas, making the gestures he’s used since he was an infant in demand of being picked up.

Dean is exceedingly pleased that his son loves Cas. It had been one of his greatest worries that Ben wouldn’t like him. But now he finds that Ben not only loves Cas, but he might actually like him _more_ than he likes his father. That should annoy him, but he knows Ben loves him too. Cas scoops Ben up as soon as he’s in reach. He’s barely finished with his hug before Ben is already reaching over his shoulder to make the same motion at Dean.

“Pa! _Pa_!”

Cas laughs as he hands him over to Dean. “I believe he saves the best for last.”

He always knows what to say to make Dean feel even better. Laughing, Dean takes Ben and spins in a circle with him held at arm’s length. “Good morning, little guy! Aren’t you getting a little too heavy?” Dean tucks Ben against his chest as he carries him to the alcove where they take their meals with Sam and Lisa. “I think we should start feeding him less. Soon I won’t be able to pick him up.”

“No!” Ben giggles, squirming happily when he’s placed on the chair between Dean and Lisa.

Meal time is the only time that Cas does not sit beside Dean. He shares the other side of the table with Sam while Dean and Lisa take care of Ben, sharing the task of making sure that the food ends up in his mouth and not on his clothing. Of course, they could have a nursemaid feed him if they wanted to, but they both like being a part of Ben’s life. It’s just like how they _could_ take their meals at the banquet table in the dining hall, but that is far too large for five people to eat at.

Dean has barely taken his seat before Cas is leaning over to Sam. “Are you feeling alright?”

That’s when Dean notices that Sam looks a little gaunt, as if he didn’t sleep at all last night. Sam shakes his head and looks pointedly at Dean. “I want to move my bedroom to the other side of the castle.”

He frowns and shares a concerned look with Cas. “Why? What’s wrong with your current room?”

“It’s too close to _yours_.”

His point is made immediately and Dean can feel the blush racing under his skin. “ _Oh_.”

Over the last moon, he and Cas have been experimenting. Cas has knowledge of what to do, but he has a severe inexperience with it. They’ve been using what Cas knows of and some of the information from the book that Dean was given. So far, he has learned to use his mouth on Cas’s erection which is an interesting experience that they’re both only comfortable doing after a bath. It wasn’t long after they started doing that did Dean find out that Cas is actually _loud_. And he can understand why.

Cas is always far more hesitant and careful with everything that he does when they’re trying something new. Dean will throw himself into everything head first, hoping that he’ll stumble across something that Cas likes, but Cas will take his time and feel things out slowly and methodically. It’s actually very nice and Dean also always finds it difficult to be quiet too.

If Sam has been listening to that for the last moon, then Dean can understand why yesterday was the tipping point. Last night was the first time that Cas has ever used the oil to slick his fingers before he put them _inside_ of Dean. Most of everything is a blur after that because Cas found a spot inside of Dean that sent fire burning through his veins. Dean is fairly certain that he was on the brink of actually _screaming_ when he reached orgasm surprisingly quickly.

Where Dean knows what Sam means immediately, Cas does not and he frowns at him. “I don’t understand. How does proximity –”

“I’ll explain later, Cas.” Dean says quickly.

Sam shakes his head. “There’s not explaining necessary. I’m going to be moving to the other side of the castle and nothing you say or do can stop me.”

Lisa laughs as she brushes hair back from Ben’s forehead. “I _am_ on the other side and I can tell you right now that moving won’t work. Unfortunately, these halls echo quite a bit.”

Dean can tell that her words are said in jest, but he still sends her a dirty look as he crosses his arms. “You can blame _Cas_ for that.”

“Oh!” Realization flashes Cas’s face shortly before it falls back into a frown that he directs at Dean. “How am I the one to blame when _you’re_ the one who seems unable to keep quiet?”

“I’m not the only loud one.” He fires back with a smile. “And you’re at blame for not sharing all your Aladaï teachings sooner. If I had known what was coming, I wouldn’t have been so loud.” Something occurs to him then and he looks pointedly at Cas. “Speaking of – we need more oils.”

Sam’s face twists in confusion and he tilts his head. “Why would you need –”

“Sam!” Lisa says sharply. “Ben may not understand what’s happening, but I do. For your sanity and my own, please don’t ask them that question.”

The look Sam gives her is vaguely horrified after he snaps his jaw closed. Dean’s willpower gives out and he can no longer hold in his laughter. As soon as he starts, Lisa does too and Sam takes a moment to join in. Cas simply smiles. If he was going to laugh, he never gets to it. He looks down in surprise and pushes away from the table. Dean and Lisa both look to the empty chair between them and laugh even harder as Ben pops up on the other side of the table between Cas’s legs.

As he stands, Cas lifts Ben with him. Ben giggles happily and claps as Cas balances him on his hip with one arm. There are servants carrying their meals toward them and Cas goes to help – which is a habit that Dean has _not_ been able to break. He doesn’t mind as much anymore. If it’s something that Cas _wants_ to do, Dean is happy to let him do it. As long as Cas is here with him and continues to love him, Dean will be happy to let him do as he wishes.

After all, Dean loves him. He loves his brother and his wife and his son. He has everyone who matters to him in the world and best of all, he has Cas. He has his _family_ , and really that’s all Dean needs. This is everything he needs to be happy and he most certainly is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the final chapter. Thank you to everyone for reading and I hope you enjoyed this fic as much as I have. ♥ This was my first foray into a period piece, though it still had a healthy dose of fantasy world to it. I loved every minute of it and I'm sorry to see it end. I hope you'll stick around for everything that will be coming in the future. 
> 
> If you're on tumblr, you can find me at [under the same username](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com) where I have a list of future projects. After [A Little Patience](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1750058) is over, I'll be holding a vote for which story comes next - if you want in on that. 
> 
> And once again, thank for reading and for all your support over the months with this fic. I'm so sorry for how the update schedule got a ~~little~~ lot fucked up at the end. It was not the best time of year to be trying to do two fics at the same time. But thanks for toughing through it and, really, just thank you ♥


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